Harry Potter and the Mermaid's Tear
by Nel1
Summary: After the Tri-Wizard Tournament, we find Harry struggling to find himself in a place he once considered safe, fighting to remain strong whilst all those around him crumble in fear. - Chapter 11 has been submitted, please R&R!
1. The Mermaid's Tear

"Harry Potter and Mermaid's Tear"

A Harry Potter ™ fanfic by Sarah Stalcup

Prologue: Escape

CRASH!

The booming undulation of thunder spilled over the castle grounds, illuminating the sky with its electric blue hues, blots of lightning licking the saturated clouds as they ripped open, heavy, fat lobs of water falling to the ground.

With the sky groaning and the winds howling incessantly, one could easily mistake the prominent school for an eerie, malicious prison. And yet, some still sought refuge in its unnaturally cool dwellings.

Footsteps pattered along the slick grassy knolls, bits of green sticking onto worn and tired feet, nearly slipping, falling. Struggling against the beating maelstrom, using her arms to shield her eyes from the icy drops of rain, the figure trudged forth, breaths coming out in ragged gasps, chest heaving sporadically. Hair clung to her face, speckled with grime and sodden with rainwater as it streamed along her skin, dripping off the slender curve of her chin. Goosebumps formed on her barely clothed body, a worn, threadbare cloak pitifully draped over her pale form.

A sudden gale nearly overturned the girl, almost sent her spiraling backwards into the rocky cliffs she had appeared from, to be impaled upon the vicious rocks that lay below along the beaches unforgiving surface. Planting her feet steadily, teeth bared and gritting one another, the survivor treaded forth, working her way towards her seemingly insurmountable goal.

_Almost there…please…I must…_

Arms pumping back and forth, legs wobbling from exhaustion, the girl seemed unaccustomed to walking, for she never broke into a mere jog, pacing herself at a slow lumber, feet padding noisily on the muddy, slippery school grounds.

A sudden crack of livid, white lightning struck an enormous tree next to the young girl, its scorching bark cracking, collapsing on itself, leaning to one side, like a giant monster swaggering in defeat. The towering object began to plummet, its trunk groaning in discontent, resisting an inevitable fall, when a brutal buffet finally tipped the scales, sending the behemoth of a tree downwards onto the ambling girl.

The girl had no time to yell out for help, although her screams would she surely be taken by the whirling blasts of air. She simply gasped out in surprise, clasping her cupped hands over her mouth, pewter gray eyes dilated in fear. Instinct kicked in at the last moment as she ultimately attempted to dodged the subsiding plant, but her foot caught on an errant rock blocking her path, and as her arms went flailing, the girl's body landed onto the miring lawn with a ferocious bump. Moments flashed before her wide eyes, as the branches and leaves seemed to be assaulting her, flying into her face like massive birds of prey itching to claw her face to rags. She was too horrified to notice that her ankle was dripping with blood from the jagged rock.

But in an instant, the terrifying moment passed, the thunder seemed to be dampened, and even the sky did not appear so gray. As the trembling figure looked up, her hands outstretched in front of her while the skin of her back felt the mud and rocks, she saw with disbelief that the plunging tree was hanging in midair like a bird flying against the wind. It was as if some sort of force field had been created around her, just in the nick of time.

And then the tree did something else: It began to slide.

Sliding to her right side, in fact, but around her as if it were traveling in an orbit around her body, which was by now shivering and trembling like an erratic metronome. The tree rounded a corner, slumping beside the girl, saved by this apparent miracle or twist of luck, dirt still caked on her paralyzed face, infused with fear and stark white from alarm. It crashed onto the ground with a terrible noise, and then lay still.

Gazing up at her clenched hands, still hanging over her, she slowly brought them down to her sides, edging away from the monstrous tree as if it could still leap out and tear her head off like a nefarious dragon.

As she climbed to her clumsy feet, still shaken by her strange and wondrous evasion of death, she barely registered the person stalking behind her, hands raised, preparing to strike.

And she soon fell back onto the ground, after a massive pair of fists had crashed onto her face like a wooden club, the world around her turning inky black.


	2. The Shattered Glass

Chapter 1: The Shattered Glass

Summer had never been quite so astonishingly dismal for the Boy Who Lived, that is, Harry Potter, who had been sent to suffer two incessantly long months at number four, Privet Drive, a well-to-do establishment that unfortunately housed 3 of the worst Muggles ever imaginable.

It seemed rather peculiar and bizarre to place such an esteemed person such as Harry in the hands of the Dursleys', his only living relatives, for his resume of fame seemed to trail on for days: Fastest Seeker of the Century, Winner of the Triwizard cup, defender of those in need, and internationally known as one of the greatest Gryffindors of all time. But most importantly, Harry was the one soul who had survived against the nefarious, spine-tingling ruler of darkness, a persona so maligning that he has been referred over the years as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But even with this glittering inventory, Harry was condemned at the end of the school term to live with his awful, magic hating Uncle, Aunt and Cousin, all of whom seemed to wish Harry a most bitter life while he was not at Hogwarts, a school dedicated to teaching young people how to become respectable wizards and witches.

Uncle Vernon, a portly man with a blubber sized body, was perhaps the most vehement of them all, threatening poor Harry with starvation and abuse whenever the boy spoke of his school or his talents. His ugly, course mustache concealed a never ending frown that only disappeared when either Harry was out of his sight, or when his son, Dudley was doing something he quoted to be "brilliant", such as tying his shoes without aid.

A twig compared to Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia was a skeleton come to life, with bony, knobby fingers that could form a death-vice around any object she clutched. Her nose was bent up like a thick twig, and a look of scorn seemed to be permanently imprinted on her pale, clammy face. An infernal gossip, her normal nook was right beside her bedroom window, peering out like a telescope to invade on the neighbor's privacy.

On Dudley himself, the dolt-of-a-cousin Harry was forced to live with, he was perhaps the size of a full grown manatee, with a girth that made small-framed Harry look like a single particle of dust. When he wasn't punching his cousin in the arm ("Going to be a boxing champ like his grandfather!" Uncle Vernon would cheer whenever this happened) Dudley could be found with his group of school-yard thugs and bullies, all relatively smaller then Dudley himself, but still rather intimidating. They would terrorize the other children in the neighborhood, who would never question the hulk of fat and his friends, and when they weren't being patrolling for victims, Dudley and his crew could be found hiding in the alleyways in secret smoking. Ignorant to his darker, more immoral side, his Uncle and Aunt, who adored Dudley with every fiber of their being, always favored him over Harry, although he was rather ugly, with thick, rubbery hands and pig-pink skin that concealed slabs of fat, whereas young Potter had a gentile air about him, from his carefree hairstyle, which was never well-kept, to his exuberant green eyes that twinkled like icicles.

And at this moment now, Harry's dazzling eyes appeared to be melting like icicles left out in the sun, dribbling water down his fair face, hands working to rub them away as soon as they left his eyes. He was crying, sobbing in his loneliness. His hair seemed to be more harried than usual, wildly draping around his head as he stood by his bedroom window, waiting infinitely for someone, something. Curled up on his un-made bed, books lying frantically on the ground, Harry could feel another deluge of tears beginning to surge from the corners of his eyes, which were tinted red with anxiety. His arms dotted with bruises, the freshest one on his left forearm nearly 3 inches in diameter, he had nearly had enough of Dudley's abhorrent abuse, was fed up with having to be his punching, knowing that if he even attempted to use magic in retaliation he would face serious charges from the Ministry of Magic. He was a growing boy, now 14 years old, but Harry was still no match for his brute of a cousin and his posse of hoodlums.

The summer had treaded on at a glacial pace, every day more miserable then the last had been, and it was almost too much for the poor boy to bear. He was at his wits end. Something, anything had to change, or he risked his sanity.

A flurry of feathers and the sound of distant wings flapping announced the return of Hedwig, Harry's faithful owl and animal friend, and the boy's face lit up as soon as the snowy white bird perched on his window sill, affectionately nipping his fingers, a small, brown envelope strung to its clawed, left foot. Harry wiped away a stream of tears as he spoke to the bird.

"Where have you been, Hedwig?" Harry questioned excitedly, hurrying to loosen the letter free, offering the owl a bit of cake his friends had sent him for his birthday, which had transpired just yesterday.

"You've been gone for nearly a month…had me worried sick…"

Laughing as he tore the casing open, bits of paper falling to his feet, Harry gave a gasp of anticipation as he read letter he had been expecting for quite some time. There was no return address, no indication of where the envelope had been sent from, but he knew exactly who had mailed him the grubby letter: his godfather, Sirius Black, a former Azkaban prisoner now on the run from the Aurors of the Ministry.

Sirius was by far one of the most trustworthy men Harry could claim he knew, although things had not started that way; before they had become acquainted, Sirius was understood to be a killing heathen, murdering 13 people with one curse before he was discovered and locked up within the Dementor-infested dungeons of Azkaban. With the help of his friends, Ronald Weasely and Hermione Granger, Harry had rescued Sirius, as well as uncovered the secret behind Sirius' past. Although Harry would always know that Sirius was an innocent man, it would be a long time before he could walk the streets, unless he was disguised as "Snuffles", a bear-like black dog that Sirius could transform into, the result of being an Animagus.

Rabidly unfolding the parchment roll, Harry's eyes darting across the sentences, hoping to hear some word of when he would be leaving the Dursleys' to stay with either him or the Weasely's.

Harry-

I do hope that you're time with the Dursley's is not as unbearable as it could be, but once again, due to difficulties I'm sure you are aware of, I cannot allow you to stay with me. It is too dangerous to let a Hogwarts student to gain residence with a supposed criminal like myself; it would raise too many eyebrows and suspicions.

Therefore, I can only hope that was Albus told me was true, and that you will be moving over to the Weasley's burrow. If you hear any word from them about this, please send me an owl so that I know when to stop sending letters to this address.

Please respond soon, and like before, inform me as soon as possible if anything out of the ordinary appears. Stay safe!

-Sirius

P.S. BuckBeak and 1 are doing fine, thanks for the cakes in your last package!

Sighing in disappointment, Harry put the letter down on his side table, next to the array of birthday cards he had received from his friends; he still was unused to receiving so many parcels and sweets in one year, having been deprived of such commodities before.

Always the one to think ahead, Hermione had given him a book on advanced summoning and disarming spells, just in case, for it seemed his need for them was becoming increasingly apparent, with the return of Voldomort supposedly at hand. Her tutelage in summoning had been of paramount help last year during the brutal trials of the Triwizard competition, when he had to summon his Firebolt in order to best an alarmingly ferocious Hungarian Horntail dragon, armed with barbed teeth and piercing talons, just aching to tear him off his broom. Had it not been for Hermoine's assistance, Harry surely would have never been able to steal the beast's precious golden egg.

Sitting next to the large, leather-bound spell-book was Ron's present, a small model of a Gryffindor Quidditch player, its hair and robes blustering about it as if the figurine was actually twirling and zooming about above the playing field. One of its' arms was outstretched, hand balled into a triumphant fist of pride, a warm smile playing on its' resin face. Just gazing at the model made Harry's heart ache to mount his own broom, the Firebolt, which Sirius had sent him after his old, but trusty, broom, the Nimbus 2000, had been splintered during an ill-fated match. Harry yearned to feel the gusty winds blistering across his face, to wrap his fingers around the marveling Golden Snitch and win his house 150 points towards victory. But school rules strictly forbid Harry to perform any magical acts while not at Hogwart's, much to his dismay.

Lastly, Harry had been giving an assortment of sweets from his dear friend Hagrid, the half-giant Groundskeeper with a heart of gold, and a love for anything with poison stingers or leathery hides. Amongst the myriad of things was a box of Harry's favorite, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a collection of jelly beans so dangerously nasty that he barely found a single bean that actually tasted like a candy. Unfortunately, Mr. Bott had a habit of placing more vomit, bogey, and earwax flavored beans in every box than anything else. All in all, Harry was greatly relieved to find that Hagrid had sent him store bought sweets instead of his own; Hagrid was partial to the rock-hard variety.

Once again Harry's eyes moved over to the half-crumpled letter from Sirius. He couldn't bear living here anymore, not with the impish Muggles he had to contend with, not with their biased views of Harry's magical lifestyle. He felt like a prisoner, locked within a cage with no escape, nothing to do but stare through the steel bars as Dudley poked at him with his knobbly stick, a short cane used to beat anyone that perturbed you. Sulking over to his dresser-top mirror (or whatever you could call a mirror, for the glass was already cracked in several places, the frame rusty and rather shabby), Harry glared at his self-image: a boy with disorderly, brown hair, a unique scarred crossing his forehead like a bolt of lightning, a pair of eyes that resembled those of his mothers…

It was then that Harry hated the Dursleys to a most frightening extent; hated how they had lied to him about his past, ridiculed his family's past, even mocked the great Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, whom Harry trusted with his life. His breaths became hot, seething, eyes closed in fury as he thought back to all the instances when he had been shoved into that horrible cupboard underneath the Dursleys' staircase, forced to eat like a bird and watch Dudley stuff his already rotund face like some half-starved cow. He was filled with hate for many men, like Voldomort, who had killed his parents, even tried his luck against Harry, and especially Severus Snape, his most despised teacher at Hogwarts.

It was when Harry's rage seemed to reach a fine point, like the tip of a blade, that it happened.

The shattering glass took Harry by such surprise; it took a few moments for him to realize just what had occurred. Eyes open, he suddenly felt a warm sensation trailing down his cheek, and pulling is hand up to his face, Harry suddenly realized that he was bleeding, that something had cut him. Looking back to the mirror, he gasped with confusion, realizing that all that was left of the looking glass was its amalgam backing, a few shards of glass still clinging to the corroded, metal frame. He hadn't heard a single crack of glass, everything has felt as if he had been thrown into slow-motion.

_What…what did I do…I didn't say any spells or charms…_Harry thought to himself, eyes still dilated with worry, knowing that he could be reported by the Ministry of Magic for the Improper use of Magic. It had happened before, but that was because of the scheming Malfoys, a family of wizards so cunning, they were feared by almost the whole magical community. His pulse was ringing in his ears, face flushed, and Harry barely heard his fuming uncle storm into the room, obviously attracted by the sound of his exploding mirror.

"You stupid boy! What have you done now?" he bellowed, his great, fat face turning deep purple; Harry could swear he saw steam rising out of his ears.

"I told you: NO MAGIC IN THE HOUSE!"

"B-But I didn't mean to, Uncle Vernon…it…it just happened!" Harry blurted out, knowing that he shouldn't be afraid of his roaring Muggle of an uncle, who was wary of Harry because of his relation to Sirius Black.

"None of that from you, Potter-boy! I want this all cleaned up before dinner or…" he straightened his face up in a pitiful attempt to appear stern, "Or else!"

Harry could barely stifle his laughter under his breath, pretending to cough instead. Nodding in response, he watched us Uncle Vernon trudged out of the room, muttering things like "stupid magic" and "Hogwarts…what a crock!"

Kneeling over the broken glass pieces, Harry began to carefully pick up the shards of glass, forgetting that his face was still bleeding, although the flow had already begun to gradually dwindle to a slow trickle of syrupy-red fluid, the blood coagulating as it should proper. But as he peered into one of the jagged fragments, Harry suddenly leapt back, hands out from his sides in stupefaction, mouth open in a perfect "O". The shard of glass that he had been holding gently was suddenly clenched by his hand. He barely registered the pain, didn't realize that his own blood was twisting down the flesh of his fingers. Harry's reaction had been too strong, it was blocking out all of his senses.

He had seen a face, but it was not his own, and Harry was very hesitent to look back down into the glass again. Glasses falling down the ridge of his slender nose, he slowly brought himself over the shard, looming over it to get a better look while Hedwig zoomed around the room in a rampage of confusion and fear.

Dark, cold eyes and a pale face. Black hair and a twisted smile.

Harry recognized the face all too well, wished he could snap the glass piece into smaller bits and throw the fragments into the trash bin. But he was to startled to even begin to react, face unmoving, eyes not even twitching as he looked at the maligning, vicious face that had replaced his own in the mirror shard.

"Snape…" Harry spoke quietly, trying to hide his amazing dread, suppressed only by his fear that if he spoke the name too loudly, the face within the looking glass would speak back at him, for the reflection appeared all to authentic to be just a trick of the mind.

And then he blinked. Harry blinked.

With that moment's brief passing that cool, calculating face of Severus Snape, the Hogwarts Potions Master was gone like a bad dream distilling in the morning dew.

With that, Harry's reflection returned to him, although the fragment of glass was sufficiently covered in his own drops of blood. Pushing the panel away, Harry sat on the floor, still like a gargoyle, chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart a mad tympani, rapping against his ribcage. Looking at his bloodied hand, mouth warped with disgust, Harry haphazardly thrust the crimson-stained sliver of glass onto the carpeted ground, knowing fully well that Aunt Petunia would be beside herself with fury when she saw the stains of red.

And then his mind was tugged to another direction, another piercing thought: he had evaded the Dark Lord, Voldemort, on several occasions, if not barely. But during Harry's last encounter, he had actually seen the cruel, seething man in the flesh. Harry could still see those red, broiling eyes staring into his own, slicing through his soul, burning his mind to ashes. What if this were an omen, a glimpse of things to come…Harry shuddered at the thought…but it was still a possibility.

By this time, Harry finally noticed that Hedwig was fluttering about the room in a dizzying fashion; pecking and scratching at the parchment roll that was still laying next to Hermoine's birthday present to him. Harry shook his head, knocked away his mental funk and got to his feet momentarily.

"Hedwig…I'm sorry…didn't mean to frighten you," Harry said apologetically, nuzzling a finger against the owl's soft, feathery face with his clean hand, smiling weakly as he tried to placate the frightened bird.

"I know what you're trying to tell me…and I agree with you…"

Pulling out the nearest quill and inkbottle, Harry sat down on his bed, parchment at hand, and began to write:

Sirius-

I just had the strangest occurrence…first, the old, ratty mirror in my room suddenly shattered as if I had used magic upon it, but I hadn't cast a spell…but that isn't all.

When I looked into the broken pieces, I saw Snape's face, not mine. Does it mean something's going to happen? What should I do, should I tell Dumbledore? Please write back soon.

-Harry

Quickly roping the letter to Hedwig's leg, fingers fumbling with the twine, still shaken up by the whole ordeal that had just passed, Harry set his faithful owl into the air once more, only taking his eyes off her to look back down on his bedroom's floor, at the shattered pieces of glass.


	3. In Diagon Alley

Chapter 2

In Diagon Alley

To Harry, who had been confined once more in the upstairs floor for the incidence with the exploding mirror, the next few days seemed to creep by at a petty pace, like a cumbersome glacier crawling slowly across the arctic waters, like watching a herd of slugs trudging across the ground. Slumped on his bed during every hour of the day when he wasn't being pushed around like a slave, Harry rarely found an exciting moment when he was awake, and when sleep finally consumed his senses, his dreams were filled with flashbacks of the mysterious reflection. Monotony consumed Harry's life, each passing moment a repeat of the last, and every time he glanced back at his rusty, dilapidated alarm clock, usually only 5 minutes had passed since the last time he had checked.

But on a particularly boring Sunday, where he had been put through the daunting task of washing and folding all 30 pairs of Dudley's stretched, oversized underwear, a little thread of thrill wormed its way into the morning, as Harry's sleep was suddenly provoked by a harsh scratching noise, as if a cat was attacking his bed post.

Awaking with a start, a hand clasped over his chest, Harry's eyes moved over to the side of his bed, where Hedwig stood, one leg severely hampered by a thick, tightly packed gift. Like before, no return address has been written, but he could recognize that scrawled handwriting anywhere. Harry tore and ripped at the brown paper like a hungry animal trying to get its share of a carcass, until he had finally unearthed the parcel's contents, a small, leather-bound notebook, the edges frayed, scratches covering the books dirtied cover. Puzzled over the item, Harry turned the volume over many times, inspecting front and back for any indication on the books purpose, only to be left with more bewilderment.

"Is it really from Sirius, Hedwig?" he said with a half-smile, and the grin grew wider as the snowy owl hooted emphatically, wings beating as if to goad Harry on with investigation. Shaking the book a little, a small parchment fell out of the pages into Harry's lap. Harry's initials were scribbled on the front.

"Finally getting somewhere…"

Cracking off the sealing wax on the backside of the note, Harry vigorously scanned over the pages, hoping to see Sirius' familiar signature at the bottom of the page. Without even considering the body of the letter, Harry sighed with relief upon seeing that it was indeed there, that this was no trick of the mind or illusion. After giving the hooting Hedwig some stale chips, the only thing he had been fed last night, Harry returned to read the remaining portion of the memo.

Harry-

I'm glad that you wrote me as quickly as you did…this situation is not to be taken likely, as I suspect that there is some deeper meaning to this strange reflection. I have personally contacted Albus, and in response, he has given me this journal to forward to you.

There is a great enchantment on this item; much like, and in the same respect unlike Tom Riddel's journal, the spell connects two objects by the use of ink. I have in my hands a similar book, and whenever one of us writes on the pages, the same words and phrases will be communicated on its mate journal. This way, if something urgent is to happen to either of us, write to me immediately so that I may help you ASAP.

Please keep this charmed diary safe. It has more value than you can even began to imagine, and its uses are more broad than you may believe them to be. I leave you with my dearest hopes that you are and will still be safe for much time. I sense that something is aloof, and Albus can agree with me on that.

As for Snape, Albus tells me that he shall keep an extra wary eye on him, both physical and magical. Snape has always been a most strange, estranged character, but I severely doubt he will directly act out his hatred towards you, at least not with both Albus and myself around.

-Sirius

Tempted to try out the new bauble as quickly as possible, Harry leaped from his spot on the frumpy, lumped mattress, racing to his closet where all his wizarding supplies had been stored, to Uncle Vernon's dismay. Snatching up his last bottle of magical ink (Harry by now absolutely abhorred Muggle ink) and quill, eyes blazing with excitement, Harry plopped into his wooden chair, one that groaned with detest at whatever little weight Harry contained. The chair and its matching table were worn and shabby, on the verge of tatters, and he had to place several books or planks of wood to keep all 4 legs of his chair on the ground.

Dipping the nibbed end of his plumbed pen into the small, tubular bottle, Harry barely had the time to scribble down one dot of ink before a long, stretched out yell emerged from the first floor, quite loud enough for him to deceiver the speaker.

"HARRY! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT! THOSE….THOSE PEOPLE ARE HERE AGAIN!"

Turning back to the journal quickly, heart racing now, Harry had enough time to scribble down a single line before shutting the book:

"I'm leaving for the Weasley's today."

* * *

Skimming along the mahogany stairs at quicksilver speed, hair whipping about his pale, but gleeful face, Harry appeared around the corner towards the living room, knowing that he was going to be confronted with both his disgruntled uncle and at least one of the Weasley's, a red-haired family of pureblood wizards. Ron Weasley, the youngest boy in his family, and Harry's fellow Hogwarts' classmate, was a prodigy at wizard's chess, an enchanted version of the popular Muggle game, where the pieces actually decimate their foes, in brutal ways most of the time.

And standing in front of the Dursleys' fireplace, covered from head to toe in thick black layers of soot was none other than Harry's good pal Ron, accompanied by Mr. Weasley, a blissful smile plastered on his face. Despite the Muggle-world's fear of Magic in most cases, Ron's father held a peculiar fascination with all things _not_ wizardly, which made the Weasley's short visits to number 4 Privet Drive a pure joyride for the Ministry of Magic employee.

"Harry, I want you to pack your things quick as possible…Petunia'll mind these…people…being in our house…" Uncle Vernon scowled like an angry boar, face speckled purple by now, as he was obviously trying to suppress a multitude of ignorant insults. Harry's aunt and Dudley were obviously not at home, perhaps grocery shopping (which always took an especially long time because of Dudley), or else no one would be able to talk about the screams and screeches.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said shortly towards the glowering, rhino-of-a-man, giving both of the Weasley's a brief wave of the hand and a "hello" before he raced back up the stairs, zipping into his room, while startling the sleeping Hedwig in the process.

"Guess what, Hedwig?" Harry said, out of breath and now catching his breath to soothe his jolted owl, "the Weasley's are here! We're leaving this place!"

With a merry hoot and a flustering of her wings, the content owl swished herself into her cage, ready to be whisked out of the Dursleys' home, for her time in flight was greatly reduced while in their custody. Her happy undulation speeded Harry on, as he hurled himself into his closet, dragging out his trunk, tossing all his things into the container in a rather slipshod manner, too caught up in the excitement of things to really sort things out in a mannerly fashion. Nearly catapulted into tears of happiness, he did however, make sure that he remembered all his school things and, especially, the journal Sirius had sent him, along with all his birthday presents.

After rechecking that all his spell books and cloaks were accounted for, Harry found himself literally shoving the chest through his confined doorway and down the clattering stairs like a dead body being hurled into the ocean.

A great clunk resounded through the house as Harry's trunk made contact with the floor beneath him, nearly sending Uncle Vernon into a fit of rage, beating his feasts into his sides to vent off his culminating resentment. His face was brick red at this time, and Ron, half struck with fear and amazement, looked on with wide-eyes.

"Boy, I swear if you've made a mark…" he muttered slowly, breathes seething through the gaping holes between each of his teeth, wide-eyes alight with internal flames. Tapping an obtrusive foot onto the ground, his toe flapping up and down blazingly, Harry tried with all his might to push the trunk towards the fireplace as swiftly as his strength could allow.

This would not be the first time Harry had traveled by the use of a grand Magical transportation mechanism entitled "Floo Powder". Although he was getting much better at utilizing a fireplace to go places, Harry's mind would never let him forget his pioneer adventure, one that had left him in a dark corner of the wizarding business district known as Diagon Alley, where the magical community as a whole went to shop. It was because of his unforeseen visit that Harry had his first real glimpse of the evil moralities that some wizarding families hid under the shroud of deathly black.

"Well…I guess I'll see you next summer…Uncle Vernon…" Harry squeezed out, the words lodging in his throat, as none of what he was saying was the least bit friendly at all; living with the Dursleys for 11 years had done nothing to fabricate a loving bond with any of the ill-mannered lot, it had only fortified an intense hatred between them.

"Yes, boy…see you later…" Uncle Vernon choked out, dismissing him with a curt wave of his chubby, greasy hand, turning away from Harry to return to the kitchen, most likely to feed his face along with Dudley. Harry's Aunt Petunia was out shopping, although this didn't bother him at the least, and it was probably the same for her as well.

"Good to see you again, old chap!" Mr. Weasley spoke in an exuberantly, eyes smiling when no smile was offered back, pumping his hand in the air while Ron struggled with Harry to bring his chest closer to the fireplaces brick front.

"Good bye!"

"Dad…haven't I told you? Those ol' gits don't give a bat's hide about us…" Ron chided his father, eyes rolling as he beckoned him over to assist them,

"Bet you didn't expect us to come this early in the summer, eh Harry?"

Too overcome with an inherent disrespect for his belligerent uncle, Harry had barely heard his friend's voice, shaking his head a little to surmise beyond his anger, apologizing to Ron before saying much more.

"You shoulda have sent me an owl…that way I would have had some time to prepare at least," Harry said, grunting a little as they finally got one end of the heavy, cumbersome trunk onto the brick-built hearth.

"But I'm glad you came, Ron…there's so much I have to tell you on the train to Hogwarts…"

"Well, boys, best we get going now, I guess…seems like your uncle's a bit short on words, Harry!" pulling a small, purple sachet out of his jacket pocket, Mr. Weasley tossed a bit of it into the fireplace, sending sparks of iridescent green a flurry.

"Would you like to go first, hmm?"

Nodding happily, prepared for the globe-hopping journey that came with the use of Floo Powder, Harry smiled at Ron again, his radiant eyes twinkling with every pop and fizzle of emerald green that flew from the now lit inglenook. Stepping closely towards the mass of light and dazzlement, Harry spoke in a clear, firm voice, ridding his voice of any skips or lapses, coughing a little before he engaged in the magical enchantment.

"The Burrow!"

* * *

The best way to describe Floo Powder transportation would be to imagine yourself being pushed down through the center of a funnel, with an inky blackness zipping by you, the muscles and skin on your face rippling from the shear sensation of being hurled through time and space.

Harry, who was at this exact moment closing his eyes to hide himself from the troubling ruckus, the mind-binding awareness that you are neither in space or earth, but somewhere sandwiched in between the two, finally felt a warmth overcoming him, a cozy feeling, and when he unclosed his eyes, he found himself now standing in the Weasley's kitchen.

It was a humble home, filled with only the necessities that life demanded, for money was always in short supply when you had nine people's mouths to feed. But this didn't halt the Weasley's from being content; the Dursleys', who had plenty of income to share with others, although they obviously did not partake in such a generous act, never seemed as spirited as Ron's family.

Mouth wide in joyousness, Harry glanced around the kitchen before an ebullient flash of green behind him announced the incoming of his other two "flight companions." With a window-rattling thump, Ron was tumbling onto the floor, scurrying away from the hearth just in time to avoid the plummeting trunk that seemed to be targeting Ron's body.

A pair of mischievous faces suddenly peered around the corner, smirks pressed firmly on their freckled heads, and Harry soon found himself puzzling over which boy owned what name, for they were the twins Fred and George.

"Awww…did poor ickle Ronnikins almost get pummeled…does Ronnikins have a boo-boo?" the two boys jeered and teased in a singsong fashion that meant no harm, although Harry noticed Ron's face became a deep crimson red, especially on the tops of his ears.

"Oh, shut-up you two!" he absconded, pulling himself off the ground, shaking the dust off his maroon sweater, one that had a large, yellow "R" knitted on the front.

"We didn't mean no harm, Ron, leave off!" the twin Harry presumed to be Fred spoke in a mockingly apologetic tone, clasping his hands together and beating his eyes like an overenthusiastic model.

"You understand, right Harry?"

"Of course he does, Fred," George proclaimed, giving Harry a hearty pat on the back, a grin stretching from ear-to-ear, "anyway, its good to have you here. Reckon you were up to your wits with those blasted Muggles…"

"Now, George, what have I told you about insulting Muggles…" Mr. Weasley chimed in with a firm tone of voice, just as he had finished dusting off Harry's trunk, the strange aura of the Floo Powder dying off like a dimming candle, "You're no better then all the people that ridicule our kind…"

Just then, Harry felt himself being swept off his feet literally, face trapped in shock as a large, plump woman took the boy into a strong grip, his breath taken away as he was pressed against the body of Mrs. Weasley, Ron's exuberant mother.

"Oh, its so good to see you again, dear!" she squealed in delight before letting go of Harry finally, his nerves rattled a bit, but nonetheless okay.

"I sent the Mr. and Ron out today to fetch you from the Dursleys…I just couldn't help but get you out of that house…not after the way the way they treated us last year…"

Mrs. Weasley broke off into a hushed mumble, much to the relief of Mr. Weasley. While she scurried off to prepare a meal, and Ron was busy with his father hauling his trunk up the Burrow's one flight of stairs, Harry was left to gaze around him at the simple beauty this home held. Every nook in was filled with intriguing things, magical and not, which lent a very cozy feel to the Burrow, a warm satisfaction that Harry felt deep in his magically tinted blood, the sensation that you were with a family like your own.

A broad smile spanning his face, Harry then realized that the Weasley's were his family in a way he hadn't seen before. He was without his mother and father, both victims of Voldomort's cruelty. But he still had a place to call home, for Harry did not respect the shelter Privet Drive provided, never in a million life times. The Weasley's had put a roof over his head while he was not residing at Hogwarts, had fed him and taken him to enchanting places like the Quidditch world cup, and had most of all showed him love, especially Mrs. Weasley, who was very kind and endearing towards Harry. Staying in the Burrow was also great fun, for when he had been forced to hole up with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, all things Magic were forbidden; even mentioning Hogwarts and all things related was like committing a major felony.

"Harry? Harry! Are you listening?"

A voice resounded within Harry's ears; his senses recollected themselves as he spun around to see Ron wheeling down the stairs wildly. His friend wore a grand smile, red hair now traveling a little past his cheekbones.

"Yeah…I'm sorry…I was just thinking…" Harry said back to Ron, "I see you're due for a haircut, Ron, you're going to start looking a little like your older brother, Bill!"

Laughing a little, Ron suddenly brought his lips closely to Harry's ear, so close that it tickled. But Ron was obviously trying to be serious as he began to whisper in a very fervent manner.

"What was it that you had to tell me, Harry?" he said, his voice no louder then the scuffling of mice feet, eyes darting to spot anyone that might be spying.

"Oh! I almost forgot, follow me upstairs…" Harry nearly cried out; he had to show Ron the special journal, it had been eating at his mind for the past 30 minutes.

Dashing up the rickety staircase, several of the planks creaking madly like the deck of an old pirate ship, Harry slipped into Ron's bedroom, one covered with posters of one of their favorite Quidditch teams, the Chudley Cannons, all dressed in bright, vibrant orange robes, all zipping around the pictures surface in a way that made Harry ache to take flight as well. Gripping his hands around the shaft of an imaginary broomstick unconsciously, Harry eyes lit up.

"Hey, Ron, wanna fly for a bit? I've been aching to ever since I got back from Hogwarts!" he said happily, nearly skipping to his trunk to dig up his precious Firebolt. But in the process, his fingers touched the rugged, leathery cover of Sirius' journal, and Harry's mind reminded him of his earlier promise to Ron.

"I'm not sure, Harry…Mum says I have to work on de-gnome the garden today…since I didn't have to do it this morning…" Ron said with a regretful, heavy-hearted sigh, mouth slanting to one side as he reached for his rubber boots lying callously beside his bed.

"Well…let me help…I'll have to show you a certain something while we head on out," Harry picked up the book, and joined Ron down the stairs, chattering excitably about all of what they had done so far into the summers reign. Harry didn't have that much to divulge, as the Dursleys' allowed little excitement and fun when concerning magical entertainment. On the other hand, Ron had much to spill, about how his older brothers Bill and Charlie were coming home soon, and how Percy had finally lightened up a bit. "I guess he's learned that you can't be uptight all the time…he had my mum worried for a while though…" Ron admitted, as they reached the back door, trudging out towards the overgrown garden in the south side of the Burrow.

"What was it you had to show me, Harry? Tell me its not another one of Hagrid's horrible candies…" Ron groaned at the mere thought of the half-giant's cooking, one that made garbage appear to be a delicacy.

"Its _this_…I got it from Sirius earlier today…" Harry offered the journal for Ron to inspect, as he further explained the situation at hand: the shattering mirror, the transmogrified reflection, and most of all, the journal's magical properties.

"I always knew Snape had foul intentions, Harry…gotta watch your back around that ol' scumbag," returning the notebook, Ron started to venture into the heart of the garden, intent on finishing his task as quickly as possible, searching for the devilish gnomes that fancied the gardens secrecy.

"But Sirius said he doubts Snape'll try anything…and I trust him…" Harry spoke with a hushed voice as he too dug into the mass of vegetation.

The gnomes the boys were avidly searching for are not the cute, plump kind many Muggles are accustomed too, in fact, they are very much the opposite, for they have nasty demeanors, ugly faces and snarling teeth, never holding back against those that would fling them from their homes. Quick as hares but not too bright, they were great sport to hound around and seize. Once or twice a couple of the impish creatures might escape either Ron or Harry's grasp, and they could hear their twisted laughter around the next bush or shrub, flitting away as soon as one drew nearer to them.

"I swear…these pests get a little brainier every year…" Ron murmured as he sent another gnome flying over the lawns distance, a screaming ball of putrid skin and flaying limbs that was sure to return in the next hour or so.

"Hey Harry! Look out!"

Ron's warning was too late, for in the next terse second, Harry felt the treasured diary being yanked out of his hands, and all Harry could do was give a curt gasp before being kicked onto the ground by a pair of short, pugilistic legs.

"Come n' getit!" a raspy, slimy voice taunted, and Harry saw its horny, hairy feet scamper away in wiliness.

"Harry! It's got your book!" hands cupping his mouth, Ron's amplified voice boomed the assessment over the expanse of the Burrow's front lawn, and then the Chase initiated.

Little snickers erupted from all around the garden in delight for the shenanigans taking place, two wizards trying in vain to capture one gnome. Harry ran like the wind across the lawn, head spinning in anger, eyes darting rapidly like a hawk scanning the area for a mouse. On a few occasions, Ron's hands came very close to subduing the sneaky gnome's ankles, but the creature must have had his plan well thought out, for it would abruptly halt, curl into a ball, and the trailing wizard would be sent tripping over its bony, leathery body like a football.

Bodies were thrusted across in attempts to tackle the resourceful and surprisingly clever little imp, its fiendish laughter inciting anger within both of the boys' minds as they failed again and again to catch both the gnome and the book it had purloined. By the second time it had run through Harry's legs, startling him off guard and causing him to double over and collapse onto the ground, both Ron and Harry's clothing were covered in grass stains and bruises, small nicks turned into long cuts, and they both were seething with rage.

"Ron…we're not getting anywhere…and I can't let that book get away…" Harry said astutely, feeling a particularly purple wound on his right, upper arm, "We have to beat him in his own game…listen, I'll chase him towards that load of boulders nearest to the front head of the lawn…and then you'll hide behind that tree…I'll give you a signal and that'll give you time to trip him or something…"

"Didn't have much time to think about it, eh?" Ron mused in the midst of trouble, and with a nod, he went to occupy his hiding spot, giving Harry a quick thumbs up.

"Now…all I have to do is find that little git…" Harry groaned, his body already aching from the several trips the gnome had been sending him into. Creeping around the circumference of the garden, Harry thought that he had seen the gnome's piercing eyes once or twice, but they had just been hanging berries or fruit.

A rustling emerged from Harry's right, and he lunged without circumspect, sending a gnome dashing out of the way, speeding away from him. But Harry spun to his feet, charged ahead, teeth bare and arms pumping wildly as he tried with all his earnest to steer the gnome towards the target point. Several times they veered off course, but Harry's quick set of feet sidestepped and leaped to either side to maintain course. After a few thrilling moments, the tree came into view, a rather frazzled looking oak with ragged leaves and gnarled branches, and Harry jammed two of his fingers into his mouth, giving an arrow-like whistle.

"Now, Ron, NOW!" he then screamed, arms flapping to signal off his friend, hoping that he would understand.

A blur of maroon shot forth, and a pair of grappling hands seized the escaping gnome's dry, ugly ankles. They both toppled onto the ground, but the journal, which had slipped free from the imp's arms during his subduing, was sent pitching into the sky, arced, and then plummeted down towards a very muddy pool of rainwater. As Ron sent the troublesome gnome flying away from the garden, he suddenly spotted the journal at about the same moment Harry did, and they both wore a look of fear and anxiety as it neared the grubby puddle, and neither of them could find the strength the speak.

"I've got it!"

A feminine voice rang out. The leather-bound book was plucked out of the sky. Harry and Ron both gave an unnaturally long sigh as they saw Hermione, who had just arrived at the Burrow, snatched the book from a dirty-defeat. Her girlish figure bounded towards them triumphantly, handing the book back to its rightful owner, and Harry was relieved to see that the gift had not sustained any physical injuries.

"Hermione! I never thought I'd be this happy to see you!" Ron cried out, arms wrapping around the girl's unsuspecting form, taking her into an overly gracious hug. But in spite of herself Hermione began to giggle, and Harry, too, gave the clever witch a merciful hug, patting her on the back several times before releasing her.

"And I am as well," Hermoine said in proper voice, pointing towards her neatly packed mound of suitcases behind her, "Do you think either of you could give me a hand with these?"

Ron was the first to offer his help, nearly jumping to the occasion, grabbing up the largest and most bulky case, one that looked to be double his size and weight. But through grunts and arduous effort, he managed to drag the baggage up the length of the lawn, while Harry worked with Hermione in bringing in the other bags and trunks. By the time Ron had managed to haul the gigantic suitcase into the Burrow and was catching his breath, all of the other cases were already in the bedroom Hermione was to be staying in; she would be sharing Ginny's (Ron only had one sister) room as she did last year as well.

And so now the three friends were reunited under one, happy roof, awaiting the time in which they were to return to Hogwarts, to their school, to their second home.

* * *

Unlike at number 4, Privet Drive, Harry's time at the Burrow seemed to shoot by like a meteorite searing across the night sky, everyday filled with the magic he had been so very deprived of while with the nefarious Dursleys. The threesome exchanged stories of their summer, although Harry didn't have much to say (all he could really talk about was the mirror and Sirius' journal, which Hermione found extremely perplexing), and as the weeks trailed on, their anticipation mounted the air, their hearts beating faster at the very mention of Hogwarts. Even having Severus Snape as a teacher for another year didn't do much to belittle their cheerfulness.

"So…who do you think is going to be the new Defense in the Dark Arts teacher…maybe someone who'll stay around for more then a year hopefully…" Ron said with a laugh, reminiscing on the past years teachers as they sat in he living room together, all preparing for the yearly excursion to Diagon Alley the next day. The position of the Dark Arts Professor did seem hexed, anyone could agree on that. They had seen everything from phonies to werewolves filling in the everlastingly empty space in Hogwarts' faculty.

"Well, I for one hope it's an incredibly powerful witch, I don't think there's been a female Dark Arts teacher in years!" Hermione said with high hopes, turning to Harry to see his reaction. But the boy seemed lost in thought, eyes focused on a very boring patch of uncovered wall space, "Harry? Are you alright?"

"I-I was just thinking…do you think we'll ever see Lupin again…he hasn't visited the school since he left…" Harry said pensively in reference to his favorite Professor of the Dark Arts, who unfortunately happened to be the aforementioned werewolf, and therefore was no longer employed at Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry, Harry," sighing, Hermione gave the scarred boy a reassuring pat, "I think he's just waiting for a safe moment in which to journey back to the School…"

"Yeah, Harry, I'd be wary too, if I were a werewolf an' all…" Ron said as he gobbled down a Chocolate Frog, salvaging the collectable card, which, unfortunately, was not Agrippa, the only card Ron was missing from his collection.

"I guess…" drearily shrugging his shoulders, Harry lifted himself out of the comfortable armchair in front of the fireplace, heading towards the staircase, "I think I'm going to bed…getting kinda late…"

"You're right," Herioine agreed with a know-it-all air of confidence, following behind Harry up the staircase, yawning a little as she then turned towards Ron, who was still standing in a solemn trance, "Is something wrong, Ron?"

"Well…it's just…" Ron cleared his throat, ears turning a light pink tone, as his hands balled into tiny fists, "I w-was just wondering…y'know…d-did you ever go visit Victor?"

"Is that it, Ron? That's so cute of you!" Hermione teased a little before skipping down to face Ron, who was referring to the burly Chaser Victor Krum, from the Durmstrang school, located near Bulgaria, "For your information, no, I didn't…things just didn't work out…he was also _way_ to suspicious of anyone I talked to…he didn't even like it when I talked to my father over the phone!"

"Well…that's all I really wanted to know…you'd better get to bed, too…" Ron stammered with latent joy, "Big day tomorrow, eh?"

"Yes, Ron," Hermione replied, "Oh…and thank you for helping me with that suitcase…its always been such a pain…"

"It's no biggie…thanks for helping us with that journal…Harry woulda been in pieces if it had fallen into that puddle…" Ron chuckled a little, his entire face a pallet of red, "Good night, Hermione…"

"Good Night, Ron…"

* * *

Bustling activity at every corner and chattering along the streets. Carts lined with wizard delicacies and magical charms. Stores filled to the rim with people and things to buy.

Diagon Alley was the cornerstone of the enchanting shopping community, where the best of the best in Hogwarts could be found and, if your wallet allowed, bought. From owls to books of the Dark Arts, everything a wizard or witch could ever want or need could either be found in Diagon Alley, or it didn't exist at all.

Many rumors corresponding to last year's debacle were swarming around the corridors and shops, like a disease, and when Harry, along with Hermione and the Weasley's, arrived near the bookstore Flourish and Blotts, they literally had to hide their faces from the many gossiping folk that roamed the area. Many a people were scrounging the Alley for objects and incantations to work against the forces of evil, especially now with Lord Voldomort supposedly revived. "Evil-be-Gone" charms and "Anti-Dark" formulas were expected best sellers, next to the required list of books every Hogwarts student had to purchase every year.

"So…you got your list yet, Harry?" Hermione questioned, unfolding her own, scanning over the list again for the 15th time. This was always her favorite part of shopping; Hermione was extremely partial to reading.

"I can't believe you have to buy _another_ book on Divination…wasting money on that worthless class…"

"Don't tell me your still onto that ol' bat, Hermione…" Ron intruded, trying to walk in a straight line, a pile of already purchased goods piled onto his arms blocking his vision perfectly, "I still wish you wouldn't have dropped that class…its no fun having to survive with just Harry there!"

"Yeah…even though it's quite a laugh duping her with our "prediction charts"…" Harry commented, nose scrunching at the thought of having to trudge through another year with Professor Trelawny, a senile old woman who had an astonishing semblance to an insect, and a somewhat creepy habit of predicting Harry's death, even though he had evaded it thus far.

Slipping into the normally crowded bookstore, the threesome found themselves in a maze of people, the volume of conversation so thunderous that they had to communicate to one another by use of hand signals and pointing fingers along with mouthing out obvious words like "Over here" and "Lets go!"

This year's inventory of reading required such books like "_The Standard Book of Spells_ (Grade 5) by Miranda Goshawk", "_Defense: a Master's Guide_ by Vernon Stonewall", and much to Harry's dismay, "_Advanced Magical Chemistry_ by Ada Vile".

"Another text for stupid ol' Snape's class…" Ron grumbled in detest as his pile of parcels doubled, forcing him to adopt a small cart to tow his things with, "And I thought it couldn't get any more complicated then it is already…even with him giving out impossible assignments…"

A sudden scream broke out over the Alley, and Harry quickly spotted a pair of young, burlesque boys charging through the crowd, a small package tucked under one of their arms. The sound of a distressed woman followed the clammer of urgency and excitement; Harry was soon shoved away from his friends as the rampaging due barged their way past him, knocking him onto the ground, his glasses slipping off his face, clattering onto the ground.

"No! My glasses!" Harry cried out, ignoring the pain in his lower back, as he scrambled to the spot on the ground where he thought his spectacles might have fallen. But to Harry's consternation, his hands only touched cobble stone and other people's feet, as the rambunctious bustle starting up again, making it that much more arduous to maneuver while down on all fours. He hadn't even perceived the fact that Hermoine and Ron were nowhere to be seen; he was so absorbed in his worsening search for his glasses. The fact that his vision wasn't up to par didn't help the situation at all either.

"Are you looking for these?" a soft voice was barely audible in the center of the bustling movement, but Harry was sure that it was directed towards him. Reaching out to its source, he found his fingers wrapping around thin metal and glass, realized that he was holding his glasses, and that they were thankfully still in one solid piece. Slipping them onto his face, Harry looked up at his aide, as a pair of thin arms helped him onto his feet again.

There, standing before him was a middle-aged woman, apparently not yet in her thirties, for her face was vibrant and youthful, as thick curls of brown falling about her, falling to the small of her back. Her chocolate tresses slowly faded to sapphire shades of blue; the woman held an almost ethereal and otherworldly glow about her, and her strange, pewter-gray eyes only enhanced this aura.

"Thanks a lot!" Harry said, nearly out of breath, now just noticing that the woman had become short on words and air, her chest heaving as if she were sick. Her skin appeared clammy, and when she placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, it was icy cold.

"Are you all right?"

A subtle change in coloration took place in the woman's flesh; it was actually becoming a light shade of blue. Her mouth tried to urge out screams for help, hands groping for Harry's arms. But Harry drew himself back, at a loss for words.

"What's wrong with you!" looking left and right for assistance, but there were no helping hands for Harry to seek; all those around him were just as confused and probably just as frightened, and many of them left in a dizzy of commotion. Looking at the woman, now on the ground in apparent pain, gasps and choking noises spouting out of her mouth, he suddenly spotted the package that the two thieves had been running away with; it was on the ground close to where Harry's glasses had been.

"Is this yours?"

The woman seemed to be in a fit, and she snatched the small, crinkly bag out of Harry's grasp, and with pewter eyes ablaze, tore out a small flask. Harry couldn't get a close look at it, but it seemed to be made out of silver, with tiny stones encrusting the shiny surface. Whatever was filling the container seemed to be vital towards the woman, for as she gulped down the contents greedily, a color comparable to the full moon seemed to flood her face, a benign gaze crept into her eyes, and a gentile smile played on her demure lips. Standing up from the cobblestone path, Harry realized how thin and elegant the woman was; she was at least full foot and a half taller then he. Tucking the precious flask into her robes of deep cerulean blue, she stroked Harry's face, and he noticed that her fingers had maintained that biting cold impression.

"I want to thank you, young man, you've been a great help to me…those hoodlums were trying to rob me of…of this…" she motioned toward the inside pockets of her robes, a sanguine look cascading over her pale face, piercing into Harry's mental defenses; it was as if she were probing into his mind. His forehead became suddenly cold, and he reached up to touch it, revealing his omnipresent scar.

"I'm guessing you're going to Hogwarts…Harry Potter…I might see you again, then…"

And with no further words the mysterious woman left Harry so quickly that he was breathless in fact. She seemed to disappear into the flourishing crowd, which had by now resumed its status quo. From amidst the zoo of people reemerged Ron and Hermione, who were both very weary and fatigued, and wearing looks of bewilderment.

"Harry! Thank goodness you're alright!" Hermione blurted out, leaving her cart to check on her friend's condition, "You weren't hurt or anything?"

"I'm…I'm fine…" Harry spoke reluctantly, not sure what to make of the previous encounter with the brown and blue-haired woman, with her graceful features and wistful appearance.

"Where did you guys get off to?"

"We went to chase down those two robbers…you'll never believe who they were…" Ron added, his face looking rather proud for having caught the hoodlums, "It was Crabb and Goyle! From Slytherin!"

"Wot! Why were they stealing?" Harry said, shocked that the two boys, who normally accompanied his slimy nemesis Draco Malfoy, had stolen something from a total stranger…it had just been a flask…maybe all she needed was some water…

"Anyway…we gave them quite a scare! Those two gits were trippin' over themselves when we pretended to call over the officials! What a joke, those two ogres!" Ron guffawed, beating his knees in a laughing fit, replaying in his mind the startled faces of Crabb and Goyle as they ran away from Hermione's threats.

"Oh dear…we've better be off then…" the girl said, checking her pocket watch, giving a nod to both of the boys before they retrieved their carts, heading for the Alley's southern exit, one that led straight towards the King's Cross train station. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both waiting for them, and Fred and George, looking as mischievous (they had probably purchased some prank charms on the side) as ever, were standing behind their parents.

"Are the ickle kiddie-poos ready to leave now?" George jeered the rushing 5th years, faces flushed from the short sprint they had made. Ron just gave a livid stare, cheeks heated and glowing red. Hermione giggled in spite of herself, giving her splotched cat, Crookshanks, a doting nuzzle underneath the cat's hairy chin.

And Harry, who still couldn't shake off this ubiquitous unease, just let his vision linger back to the corridor in which he had met that atypical and attractive woman, to her unusually succulent hair, and to her arcane, pewter-gray eyes.


	4. The Return to Hogwarts

Chapter 3: The Return to Hogwarts

It was just as Harry remembered it. The shiny red train parked at the Platform 9 ¾, smoke billowing out of the steam funnel, and the words "Hogwarts' Express" painted in bold, golden letters on the front of the massive vehicle. The thrill of seeing the train filled Harry with joyous eagerness, as it did with many of the other passengers, both returning and new. As he loaded his things onto the cargo hold, giving Hedwig one last stroke on her yellow beak, he went to join Hermoine and Ron inside the train, although his pleasant thoughts were dragged down by his nagging notions of the occurrence in Diagon Alley.

Why did he feel so compelled to wonder about that strange woman, how she had said he might see her at Hogwarts? And what was it about her that sent chills up and down his veins…especially when she peered into his green eyes?

"Well, well, if its not the do-gooder Harry Potter," a drawl voice called out from behind Harry, and he knew the speaker even before he could turn around.

"Where's the rest of the wonder team, the Mudblood and the boy-in-poverty?"

"I don't feel like associating people like them with slime like you, Malfoy…" Harry bit back, turning around slowly to face his rival, Draco Malfoy, a thin, pale boy with arrogant features and a devilish grin. Flanking his sides were his "henchmen", Crabb and Goyle, both wearing pugilistic faces, their bulky bodies diminishing the already minute form of Draco.

"Try not to feel so bad about having such…disrespected…friends…misery loves company as the saying goes, 'eh Harry?" with a sneer that would frighten off any ghoul or serpent, Malfoy started to laugh, his dry, ignorant chortle that sent thrills of anger up Harry's spine, his cheeks becoming passionately hot. Crabb and Goyle also joined in the chuckling, as if they were forced to by Malfoy's will.

"I'm not letting a jerk like you ruin my day…" Harry snickered back, continuing back for the Pullmans. But before he totally disappeared into the passenger cars, he turned back around, a smug face waltzing across his becoming face,

"Why don't you and your pals go back and try to steal from harmless women, 'eh Malfoy?"

Eyes growing wider then saucers, Malfoy shot a worried stare in Harry's direction for almost a second, before spinning around, calling his friends to follow him in a gruff manner, robes trailing behind him.

"Guess I hit a tender spot…" Harry mused, proud of how he had dismissed a pest like Malfoy with just one sentence. It wasn't every day you got that look of fear out of such a boy, and Harry was especially fond of perturbing Malfoy on a regular basis, knowing that the feelings between them were mutual.

Ron and Hermione had already taken the liberty of ordering trays of sweets for the three of them, and when Harry arrived at their compartment, his red-haired friend was busy munching away at Chocolate Frogs and Every-Flavor Beans. Hermione, of course, was getting ahead in her studies, engrossed in her spell-books, obviously in the process of memorizing some incantations or enchantments.

"Oh! Didn't see you there, Harry! Sit down and have a bite…suppose we'll be leaving the platform soon!" Ron said in between bites, managing a contorted smile while he had lumps of candy shoveled inside his mouth.

"Sorry about that… had a run-in with the neighborhood grime…" he said with a suppressed growl, flopping down into his seats, just as Hermione's face appeared over the top of her rather large volume entitled "The Bites and Barks of the Magical World".

"You don't mean that boorish Malfoy, do you?" she sneered in a very un-ladylike manner, quite surprising for a girl like Hermione, who usually upheld an air of politeness with great effortlessness.

"I swear I can't even stand to visualize his _awful _face!"

"Unfortunately, Hermione, you're correct all the same…he seemed rather embarrassed when I mentioned the Diagon Alley incident…" Harry said in a low whisper, bending over towards the middle of the passenger car to grab himself some pastries.

"No matter…as long as he doesn't show his stupid fanny near me until we reach Hogwarts…"

The rest of the trip was all-over quite jovial as the three exchanged spells and jokes, mostly about Malfoy and his family, whom they all had a reciprocated dislike towards. Harry still had not divulged his meeting with the peculiar woman; he decided to keep it to himself unless a need for revealing it presented itself, it was best not to get Ron worried over anything, he seemed to take these things quite seriously, blowing them out of proportion.

Changing into their robes as they neared the Hogwarts' central station, Harry was notably animated, pressing his face against the car windows to see if he was able to spot the easily distinguished Hagrid, who stood taller then the train itself. Harry perceived the friendly half-giant ushering the other students towards the schools, while leading the first years nearer towards the docks, where several rowboats awaited them. Only the first years arrived at the school by way of boat, the others made went directly into the Great Hall to await the rest of the new class, each by a different method of transportation. Last year, Harry had been taken to the castle by way of horse-drawn carriages, but this term, for the 5th years exclusively, they boarded great, gigantic egrets: long-necked birds with snowy feathers and massive, yellow plumes sprouting from the tops of their noble, beaked heads.

Lifting into the sky, 3 people per bird, they seemed to be floating amongst the whisping, purple clouds, and a gentle, brisk breeze dashing against their faces. Harry, of course, rode with Ron and Hermione; he wouldn't have it any other way, for to stray for from his friends meant risking that horrible chance of sitting with a Slytherin house member.

The Great Hall, which served as a dining room of grand proportions at most events, was humongous, with 4 stretched out tables placed in the center, all decorated with crystal goblets, silk cloth and elaborate, hand-woven napkins. Chandeliers of every size lined the ceiling, one that was now bewitched to replicate a cloudless night sky, and a magnificent, wonton light spread throughout the cavernous eatery. Above each of the tables was a colored banner, all representing one of the four houses, either Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, or Gryffindor, which happened to be Harry's house. Albus Dumbledore's seat, one that was impressively larger than the rest, was positioned directly in the center of the faculty table, although he himself was not yet seated. To the left of Dumbledore's throne was where Professor McGonagall's supposedly would be seated, and the rest of the teachers were laid out in a random fashion.

It took Harry's eyes a few, terse moments to adjust to the bright light of the Great Hall, for they had just left the train station when the sun had vanished, and he soon noticed Hagrid, who had returned from the docks, his great beard still as bristly, and his black eyes still as friendly. Giving a discreet wave, Harry pulled on his wizard's cap, a tall, pointed hat that added nearly two feet to his height, and headed over to the Gryffindor house table, sitting next to Ron and across from Hermione, who both wore dazzling smiles.

"I can't wait until the Sorting ceremony begins…I hope we get a large cut of the first years!" Hermione exclaimed above the growing chatter that began to culminate around them as a group of thirty students or so were suddenly lead in by a tall witch in green robes, namely, Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor. Her dark hair was strapped onto the back of her head in a tight bun, and Harry thought he detected a sliver of a smile crossing her stern-face.

She approached a large, frumpy witch's hat that stood placed on a wooden stool near the professor's tables, a large scroll gripped tightly in her hand, and after she spun around abruptly, Harry laughed at how all of the incoming students looked ready to faint, just as he had been during his first year.

Ushering them closer to her, Professor McGonagall, carefully clasped the ragged hat with her free hand, as it began its yearly limerick, the folds in the hat readjusting themselves to create a loosely formed mouth and eyes.

"_Ah, look at all you first years,_

_Loosen up a bit, don't be afraid,_

_You look too clammy and nervous_

_Just listen to this serenade_

_I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,_

_The smartest in the land. _

_There's no other cap or bonnet,_

_That can do what I can._

_So get the go and come forth,_

_I promise to be fair._

_Let me graze on your head,_

_And give your mind a stare._

_I'll find you a rightful home,_

_In this magnificent institution._

_So if you're unsure on where to go,_

_I'll give you the proper solution._

_Whether it be noble and brave Gryffindor,_

_Always serving for what is right._

_Or the motivated league of cunning Slytherin,_

_Ruthless into the dead of the Night._

_Maybe your suited best for just Hufflepuff,_

_With its decisive ideas and honesty._

_Perhaps you should join regal Ravenclaw,_

_Where roam the trustworthy. _

_Step up to my stool,_

_And give me a try!_

_I'll sort you where you're best needed,_

_This Magic Cap never lies!_

"I swear that rhyme gets tackier every year…"Ron said with a smirk as the Sorting Hat finished its rhyme and the first student stepped towards the rickety stool.

The sorting process was simple enough: you just laid the hat on top your head, and it would proclaim your residential house depending on the type of person you were. While Slytherin was notably the most despicable and immoral of the four, Harry's house of Gryffindor was well known for its loyalty and altruistic panache. As the list of names grew shorter by the moment and the last student, Melissa Panakin, was announced as a Hufflepuff, a fantastic cheer rang out in the room, as the rows of pointed hats squirmed about in excitement. Harry noticed an apparent and chained sigh of relief from all of the first years, having been sorted into their houses; it was probably one of the more stressful moments at Hogwarts, for Harry himself had almost joined the likes of Slytherin, but had fortunately been placed with the rest of his friends, much to his content.

With a forceful waive of her hands, Professor McGonagall silenced the students promptly, folding her hands out in front of her. It was quite obvious she was ready to proceed with the festivities.

"Now…I would like to introduce, and to many of you, reintroduce your Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore!" the witch spoke with great reverence for the wise and kind wizard. A small explosion went off in the room, one that sent firecrackers of purple and blue to whiz around the Hall, stars shining from all directions, and when the dust and smoke had cleared, there stood Albus Dumbledore next to the Sorting Hat.

A rush of babble simultaneously started, for the great wizard was certainly a marvel to admire, with his lavish clothing of shining robes and cloaks, all with jewels of silver dangling off of it, his pointed shoes jingling with bells. On his crooked, wrinkled nose stood a pair of trifocals, and Dumbledore's long, soft beard was as silver as ever.

"Students and Teachers of Hogwarts!" his voice boomed out like a megaphone, instilling fear into many of the first years, but only increased the awe of the other students as he seated himself in his illustrious, golden chair, "Welcome back to yet another term of wizardry, witchcraft, and all things magical!

"Before I begin the feast, as always, I have a few, start-of-terms announcements to make! As we all know, the Defense Against the Dark Arts post once more needs filling. I am therefore very pleased to announce that this year we have a teacher-in-training by the name Irenes Zelbess, who has been passing through the demanding process of pre-professor tutelage."

At this, much attention was devoted to a young woman seated to Dumbledore's right, and her image struck Harry with the force of a thunderbolt, the hairs on the back of his neck becoming rather frigid. It was none other then the woman he had helped in Diagon Alley that very same day, although she was dressed much differently.

Replacing her commonplace robes for a rather stunning ensemble, Irenes was adorned in an outfit featuring an elegant dress composed several layers of blue and gold chiffon, a silk shawl draped over her sloping, porcelain shoulders, and a pearled necklace cascading around her lithe form, many of the strands trailing onto the ground about her slippered feet. She embraced an almost Victorian glamour, and Harry swore she was taking quick glances in his direction, although a plethora of the boys around him probably thought the same. While most of her hair was free flowing, just as luxurious and layered as Harry reminisced, as she turned to smile at Dumbledore, nose a little red in embarrassment, he noticed that some of her hair was organized into a stylish braid.

The now unknown woman gave a subtle nod, her face was still very vividly animated, eyes as clear and perceiving as ever as she scanned the room. When her gaze fell on Harry again, her compassionate smile seemed to wash away all his fears like a cascading waterfall beating against his doubts.

"Harry, do you know her or something?" Ron gave the wondering prod to Harry's side, a raised eyebrow shot in the direction of Professor Zelbess' seat, "She looks kinda weird, sitting along with all those old teachers…she couldn't be a day older then 25, and say!

"Wouldn't you know it! Snape's looking about ready to blow his head off!"

Harry had to struggle to compress his roaring laughter into a coughed snicker as he broke his gaze with the young Irenes to catch a quick glance at the Potions Master at Hogwarts, Severus Snape, a teacher Harry could never learn to appreciate, no matter how knowledgeable he might be. His face was no longer pale as it had been in Harry's confusing reflection in the shattered mirror, but was instead a ghastly shade of pink, frustration biting at his malicious edges, as he cast a glowering, surly gape towards the seemingly unaware Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher-in-training. Stifling his laughter, Harry wondered if this meant he was going to have a break from Snape's usual, poor treatment of himself and the other Gryffindors, but knew that would be like asking for a free Sorcerer's Stone out of a Cracker Jack box.

He took another glimpse, and then suddenly, as if out of nowhere, recalled strangely the event preceding last year's end of term banquet. It had been an immensely deranged session of school, with the Triwizard tournament…but he would never forget how Dumbledore, during his gravest hour, had sent Snape on some mystery task; no words pertaining to the actual mission had been spoken. Snape still didn't seem to be the same, as a faint, eerie twinkle of onyx black shined weakly in his eyes, mouth tightly contracted.

"Foiled again I guess…do you think we'll live to see the day he swipes up that position?" Harry chuckled, who also noticed how extremely ecstatic Hermione was at this point; her wish had come true after all.

"I can't wait to start classes with her! Look at her…she looks so…so enchanting! Like a princess!" she said quite loudly, gesticulating wildly. The other Gryffindor girls around her started to buzz wildly, pointing out how lovely and shiny her hair was, and how attractively she dressed herself.

It was not until Dumbledore finally hushed the boisterous crowd again that he spoke again, his face, unlike those of his students, composed and calm. Standing from his seat, the warm-hearted wizard clapped his hands twice, the sound resounding throughout the now soundless Hall.

"Let the Feast begin! Enjoy!"

Suddenly, as if responding to Harry's growing hunger, rows and rows of delicious foods appeared out of thin air, crowding the richly ornamented tables. Cuisine from all over the globe was piled on silver platterséclairs, spaghetti, glazed chicken, spiced noodles, Spanish rice, and even a large selection of wizarding victuals were bedecking the tables. Harry spared not a single moment, shoveling as much food onto his china plate, licking his lips hungrily, ready to fill his empty stomach (the pastries he had consumed on the train ride seemed like crumbs at the bottom of a deep pit by this time), only stopping momentarily to chat with his friends. A large majority of the Gryffindor students were talking enthusiastically about the student teacher, Professor Zelbess, and many of the older boys were wildly commenting on how distractingly gorgeous she was.

"Beats out seeing 'ol McGonagall everyday!" one of the more raucous individuals said as he took another hefty gulp of his cider.

"Harry…do you suppose she's part Veela?" Ron questioned, referring to the race of beautiful sirens that were so hypnotically entrancing, no member of the male species was safe from their beckoning glances. A half-Veela girl, a student from the Beauxbatons school of magic named Fleur Delacour, who had competed in last years Triwizard Tournament had tempted Ron himself, he knew first hand how it felt to be drawn by the species alluring looks.

"No, Ron, I don't think so…" Harry admitted, as he then went on to explain the train of events that he had experienced earlier in the day, and Ron's eyes expanded greatly while he was told of the woman's apparent sickness.

"D'ya think she might be like Lupin…oh boy…seems like we're always getting the strange ones for the Dark Arts teachers…" Ron sighed as he served himself some more potatoes, spreading some creamy butter over the hot and steamy vegetables.

"I don't know…but she seemed like a totally different person after she drank whatever was in that flask…" Harry deduced carefully, and Hermione, who had been listening in the entire time to the secretive conversation, finally piped up.

"Oh really, you're already trying to spread rumors about Miss. Zelbess?" she said with a dignified voice, as if she was a personal friend of the new Professor.

"Well, then, how do you explain her little sickness-spell, hmm?" Ron huffed out, pointing towards the seated Professor Zelbess, who was engaged in some delightful chat with Professor Sprout, the Herbology Master.

"I-I don't know if I can really say much about that…" Hermione stammered slightly, setting down her fork and knife silently, "But I really doubt she's some sort of creature in disguise…she's just so wonderfully composed! See how well-bred and polite she is…no beast could ever act that way…"

"Hermione…Lupin was just as nice as she is, and we both know he's as trusting as Dumbledore…" Harry interjected, a tint of disgust flavoring his tone, "How can you say that about him?"

"You know I wasn't referring to him…oh Nevermind!" Hermione finally blurted out, shaking her head a little, returning to her girlish chatter with the other Gryffindor girls.

"I swear, she gets weirder every year, Harry," Ron turned towards his friend, still a little astonished by Hermione's outburst, tapping his head with his pointer finger, "I guess she's been reading a little _too_ much!"

* * *

As the feast was closed, and many yawns were exchanged throughout the Great Hall, Harry and his fellow classmates drearily dragged themselves out of their cushioned seats, lumbering up towards the towering stairs, their senses abruptly alert to the staircases nasty tendency to shift about, making the venture upstairs most hazardous and perilous. But the mounted paintings, which became alive as the students passed them by, encouraged them and spoke words that instilled courage in their worried hearts.

Reaching the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry gave a swift farewell to Hermoine, who looked as if she were going to collapse, before entering the boys' rooms, wiping his eyes so that he retained enough awareness to approach his bed safely.

"Hey, Harry…" Ron said from his four-poster bed, just as Harry was about to slip into an effortless slumber.

"Yeah, Ron?" shaking off the urge to fall asleep long enough to answer Ron's inquiry, Harry turned onto his side to face Ron's direction.

"Do you think this years going to be like any of the others…y'know…with all the excitement…I mean, having a new teacher is fun and all, but its not all that thrilling in terms of adventures…" his voice trailed off, leaving Harry's imagination to finish the rest.

"I don't quite know…but I'm sure something will pop up…we seem to have a tendency to draw adventure towards us, don't we after all?" Harry chuckled lightly before wishing Ron one final "Good-night", wrapping his covers about him, closing his eyes slowly…

It only seemed a moment later when the loud thump emerged from outside the dormitories, but as Harry was jolted awake, the lamps had all died out; it had been a few ours since he had fallen asleep.

Quietly creeping out of his bed, making sure not to wake any of the other boys, Harry furtively pulled on one of his black robes. It was then that another sound materialized, nearly frightening Harry into a paralyzed state; but he hid his dread, and pulled his robes tighter about his neck.

Closing the door behind him with utmost circumspect, the only noise heard being the subtle click of the knob, Harry continued down the spiral staircase into the common rooms, but no one was to be found, not even the residential house ghost, a nearly-headless spirit by the name of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, was absent, probably perusing about with the other specters.

It was only when a third bump resounded that Harry identified the source of the noise to actually be out in the hallways, and he wasn't about to press his luck getting caught any of the ghosts or even the caretaker, Mr. Filch, a greasy looking man who was known for his fetish in support of gruesome punishment. But the noises were all too mysterious, too curious to just ignore, and Harry pressed his ear tightly against the round, wooden door, trying to pick up as much sound without making a large amount himself.

"I tell you, that woman is no good!" a snarling voice broke out, and another clout was delivered onto the stonewalls beyond the porthole.

"I don't see why you'd think that, Severus…please try to calm yourself…she's only a young woman anyway…" a noticeably soother voice replied, and Harry recognized it to be Dumbledore's, but why was he patrolling the school grounds at this hour, with Snape on top of it…and by the sound of things, Snape seemed rather testy towards the young Professor, much more then Harry had ever envisioned.

"There's no difference…I can tell it by the way…by the way she looks! Albus, have I _ever_ been wrong in predicting these kinds of things?" voice short and seething, Harry guessed that Snape was just trying to proclaim the title of Defense professor himself, but he knew Albus would never yield so easily, not when concerning one of his own faculty members.

"First there was that conniving Quirrell..and then Lupin…and do I even need to remind you how I perfectly pointed out how untrustworthy our fourth year Dark Arts teacher was!"

"I must ask you to not pursue this conversation any longer, Severus…" Albus did not answer Severus' statement, voice now hardening.

"But the girl's _far_ too knowledgeable…coming out of nowhere…"

"This conversation is _over_!"

With that said, Harry did not hear Snape utter another word; however, a few mumbles were picked up, nothing coherent though. Drawing away from the doorway, Harry made his way back up to his dormitory, his mind heavy with thought; he would probably write to Sirius first thing the next day.

Why had Snape been so prickly towards Irenes, so determined to sack her? He had shown moderate, if not exaggerated dislike towards previous Defense Against the Dark Art's teachers, but never at this magnitude, never on such a personal level. It was almost as if he _knew_ the new teacher from some distant time and place.

Bearing this in mind, Harry crawled back beneath his covers, slipping off his glasses for a second time, and finally, after much tossing and turning, fell asleep.


	5. On the First Day

Chapter 4: On the First Day

Sunlight streamed through the white curtains, partially opened in the morning's awakening. Like animate figures, the beams crawled their way along the dormitory, slithering across the beds and floors, enveloping all it touched with a warm, sentimental glow. Soon the entire room was alight with this engorging ray of light, and it wasn't long before its effects crept upon the sleeping Harry, eyes tightly shut, the tickling radiance trickling onto his skin.

Soundless sleep had not been an easy task for the young wizard, not with the midnight rendezvous he had eavesdropped on the night before, a heated altercation between an overly suspicious Snape and the mildly annoyed Dumbledore. Harry figured he must have been getting the slightest bit tired of the Potion Master's incessant accusations after all these years. But why inculpate Professor Zelbess…she had shown no hostility as of yet, no justified reason to reproach the student-teacher. She had only officially been a teacher for one day…what was the rest of her term going to be? The questions nagged at Harry's mind, like an itch you couldn't quite reach. And he had no clue as to where to find the answers, no leads, and not even a hunch.

He grumbled at himself, getting himself caught up in matters that didn't directly concern him. The thirst for adventure was one that was hard to resist, the urge to leap headfirst into action difficult to disregard, especially after having saved the people of Hogwart's on several occasions.

Groggily shaking his head, raking a hand through a tangled mass of jet-black hair, Harry slipped out of his bed, knowing that breakfast would be starting in half an hour. Glancing over to Ron's four-poster bed, he found his friend still slumbering, a content look plastered on his face. Harry assumed he was dreaming of becoming a Quidditch captain, of earning the title of head boy, for these were some of Ron's deepest desires, as revealed by the mysterious Mirror of Erised.

At first looking much like an old, torn-down looking glass, the mirror, first seen by Harry during his first year at Hogwarts, amazingly showed the gazer neither fact nor enlightenment, but, as Dumbledore had explained to him, the person's most superlative desires. Far more then a trick of smoke and glass, the mirror had been known to lead men to their own ruin, starving them of their very existence, leaving them soulless and saneless. Had it not been for Dumbledore's forewarning, Harry himself might have become an empty shell as well, for he had seen his own, deceased parents and family, looking up him like a pair of watching angels, and he found it rather exceedingly arduous to peel his eyes away from the enrapturing mirror.

Before he forgot, his mind still a little clouded, Harry reached over to his bedside table, hands touched a scratchy role of parchment and next to that, a long, slender quill. Quickly scribbling down an expeditious letter to Sirius, divulging the conversation from the last night, he made a mental note to stop by the Owlery, located in the castle's third tower. Putting the note away in his bags, Harry stumbled over to Ron's side.

"Ron, wake up now…" Harry nudged his friend on the shoulder, brushing his own eyes a little, trying to stir a little awareness into his mind, "It's near time for breakfast…"

"Huh…oh, come off…lemme sleep…" Ron said drearily, still trapped in his somniferous state, turning over so that his back was facing his friend's face. Huffing a little, Harry yanked off the covers, letting the full intensity of the sun was spilling onto his pajama-clothed form, "Wha-what, Harry?"

"Didn't you hear me?" walking over to his lazily folded robes, Harry was already out of his bed things and into his school attired, tying his tie with fumbling fingers, "Breakfast will be soon…and I'm starving…"

With a sleepy nod, Ron, too, slothfully pulled himself off of his mattress, moving as if in a trance, and it took a couple whips of Harry's towel to finally shake Ron completely awake.

"Hey! Watch it with that thing!" Ron said, although Harry knew he was only playing, for he was grinning wildly, reaching over for his own towel, retaliating with a mock attack, After a few minutes of pillow lashing and boyish laughter, both students resigned from their "war". Racing down the stoned spiral staircases, haphazardly throwing on their wizarding attire while making for the Great Hall, Harry and Ron soon met up with Hermione, who made it a part of her lifestyle to act prompt and precise.

"Where have you two been? Breakfast has already begun…" she said after swallowing some scrambled eggs, deliciously served with fresh bacon and tart orange juice, "Did you think it would wait for you?"

"It's not like we meant to be late, Hermione, we just were…delayed…" Ron said, as he sat down, helping himself to some sausages, piling the links one after another onto his plate. Harry, who also quite famished, just gave a quick shrug, taking his usual seat next Ron and serving up some fruit-filled croissants. The rich, buttery bread filled his mouth with a taste no Muggle-made food could compare to, and, sooner then he wanted, the bell for the start of school went off, filling the entire Hall with a resilient tone.

As the food was disapparating, Harry grabbed his bag, filled to the handle with books, quills, bottles of ink, and rolls of parchment, groaning under the pressure of the cumbersome load. Reaching into his robe's pocket, he pulled out a small, six by ten-inch piece of paper, and soon found it to be his schedule.

"I can't believe it! Potions first thing on a Monday…good grief!" he heard Ron exclaim madly as he peered over Harry's shoulder to catch a glance, and Harry shared his dread; it was bad enough that he was being forced to contend with Snape's awful classes, but to have them right in the start of a day was even more appalling.

"And then we have it first thing Friday, too! Just who organized these things…wouldn't be surprised if it were Malfoy, since he has nothing better to do than make our lives a living he…"

"I'm sorry…but did I happen to hear my name being called?" called out a dry, suave tone from across the table, just as Harry was about to get up from his seat, "Oh, its Mr. Weasley…you don't sound to happy; did your family lose its last pennies in an ill-turned gambling match? Didn't think they could become even more poverty-stricken…"

"Stuff it, Draco, you slimy piece of dung!" Hermione interjected before Ron could even open his mouth, her face flushed. Malfoy seemed to brew hatred wherever he roamed, and he had incited the rage out of Hermione in previous years be labeling her a Mudblood, which was an unpleasant slang word for any Muggle-born witch or wizard, "Why don't you cart yourself back to the slime you came from, before you make the food spoil…"

"And why don't you crawl back to your un-pure family, you insult to wizardry…" Malfoy sneered, his mouth twisting into an evil smile, his pale eyes flashing over. Although Hermione knew he was only trying to get a negative reaction out of her, she felt it hard to control her broiling anger.

"Just…just go away…we didn't come back to Hogwarts to hear your pitiful insults…" Harry finally stepped in, having had enough of Malfoy's taunts and jeers; Ron looked like a firecracker ready to explode, his breath was hissing through clenched and bared teeth.

"Have it your way, Potter," stroking his gelled, blond hair, Malfoy gave a snickering, sarcastic bow, "Wouldn't want to anger Mr. Popular, now would we?"

Without any regard for either Ron or Hermione's feelings, Malfoy left as quickly as he had intruded into their conversation, his high, cold laughter still audible. Slamming a fist into the wooden table, so loudly that many surrounding students gave a jump, Ron gave a little grunt as his hand become numb from the brunt, massaging the throbbing palm, red as his livid face.

"I can't _stand_ him anymore!" he bursted, eyebrows furrowing into a frown, still rubbing his hand intently, hardly noticing that rivulet of blood was trailing down the length of his arm, ruddy red and soaking into his black robes. His eyes were wide with rage, so round and piercing, Harry thought he was imitating a preying hawk.

"Ron, you're bleeding!" Hermione gasped, fetching her wand briskly out of her own tote, swishing it quickly while reciting some well-enunciated words, "Epithelithium reparo!"

A rush of magical energy flew from the tip of the pointed wand, spiraling around the length of Ron's wounded hand, and he shuddered slightly as the forces of healing, seen as a drizzling aura of blue, rapidly reconstructed the torn flesh. Even the mess of blood disappeared, leaving Ron's sleeves and robe unmarred and spotless.

"That's much better, I couldn't stand the sight of blood," Hermione said affirmatively, placing her wand back into its individual bag compartment, "You really should consider reading some books on anger management…you just can't go around all day, smashing your hands about and getting nasty splinters…"

"Oh, Hermione, give it a rest…" Ron spat out, obviously still upset over Malfoy's mockery; he couldn't stand being so poor as it was, Ron didn't need a shadow like Draco following him around, ridiculing him. Bitterly putting aside his anger, Harry noticed Ron's face softening, the muscles relaxing, "I'm sorry…it's just…it's just…"

"I know Ron, he's such a pissant…we all know it…" Hermione said calmly, relieved to see Ron's animosity passing, "But by showing he's bothering you, it only makes him relish from it…"

"Guys…it's almost time for Potions class…not that any of us are looking forward to it…" Harry's voice trailed off, eyes moving to the ground, fearing every minute of Snape's teaching, "Don't want to get of to a bad start on the first day of school, do we?"

A shared sigh was passed between the three magicians and they half-heartily grabbed their bags, leaving the Great Hall behind, walking in a somewhat hampered pace towards the musty, chilly dungeons.

* * *

Snape's classroom seemed even more dismal than usual, the reeking stench more potent, and whatever light was allowed to pour into the room by way of the one, circular window, appeared to have little luster at all. A dirge of boredom filled the dungeon, and Snape hadn't even arrived yet with all his cheer and joy, sarcastically put.

Harry's pewter cauldron was already arranged, with his ingredients and measuring tools sitting neatly next to it. Although it was quite useless to even try and please the disreputable professor, Harry would at least give it a shot for the first day or so, even though it would be in inevitable vain.

Next to him, Ron was lazily getting out his potions supplies, clunking his vials noisily on the wooden work benches, his face the epitome of apprehension. And though he knew she held this feeling as well, Harry couldn't spot an impression of discontent on Hermione's brow. Actually, save the brown-nosing, sycophantic Slytherins, the entire class seemed to have longing craving to escape into the outside world and leave this dreary place.

Just as he had finished rearranging his incenses and ladles for the 4th time, a sudden reverberation rang out; the dungeon doors were slammed apart, and a brooding man walked in a dizzying pace into the room, greasy, shoulder-length black hair flapping behind him. The sudden intrusion had frightened Harry the most; he had been sitting the closest he could to the dungeon's only door. If escape had been possible before, all hopes were now obsolete: Severus Snape had arrived.

"Welcome to another year of Potions…" he said unenthusiastically, black eyes darting around the room, settling on those students who he either loathed or favored, thus, Harry and Malfoy respectively, "…as you all might remember, unless you are as dimwitted as I expect you to be, this class will have no classic magic-wielding and no outrageous fortune telling."

_No surprise there…_Harry thought to himself, but he must have made a face to coincide with the fleeting notion, for Snape suddenly turned his nose into the air, glaring down at him.

"Mr. Potter, back again for another term of heroics I presume?" he lampooned, arms crossed in front of him, that same, penetrating stare beating out of his eyes.

"No, sir, I'm here to learn," Harry answered innocently, trying his hardest to contain the personal malice that was reserved only for a person as intolerable as Snape. A flutter of giggling sounded out behind him, and Harry knew it came from Malfoy and his entourage.

"Well, you don't show it, Mr. Potter…oh, and by the way, you've set up your pitiful phials up incorrectly; we all know the largest ones are placed on the _left_ side…" speaking softly, Snape suddenly lurched with anger as a knocking came from his locked doors, and he suddenly redirected his passionate enmity from Harry to the person that was trying to enter, "Ah…I almost forgot…"

Prowling about the classroom like a panther at night, his dark robes trailing about his thin figure like licking, sable flames, Snape reached the door quickly, and just as the knocking hand was about to pound again, he ripped the handle back, the hinges creaking madly.

Professor Zelbess, her serene form clothed in white robes, speckled with crystalline beads, stood in the dungeon's porthole, her face composed and tranquil, although her right hand was still raised in the air, ready to make another knock on the cold dungeon portal. As he turned in his chair, Harry was almost breathless as he viewed the drastic, almost extravagant contrarieties that lay between the two professors: one was nonchalant, cold-hearted and apathetic, the other a glimmering embodiment filled with enough serenity to cease a world war.

For a few, prolonged moments, the air around them becoming stiff and stagnant, no words were exchanged, only a confused gaze from Irenes, and a scornful, unblinking glower from Snape.

"Is there something the matter, Professor Snape?" Irenes said, a smidget of indifference instilling her voice, obviously discomforted by her fellow professor's lack of respect, "Or have you neglected to inform your students that I shall be visiting their class today? Hmm?"

"Of course not, Professor Zelbess, I would never act so…coldly…" grumbling under his breath, Snape then turned towards his class, "Students, today, and hopefully today alone, Professor Zelbess will be joining our lesson, as part of her student-teacher program…

"I hope you give her the same respect that you bestow upon me…but knowing this lot, I doubt respect can even be squeezed out of their moralities…"

Harry knew this most direct insult was meant for the Gryffindors in the room; Snape had always harbored an incredulous dislike for any members of the Gryffindor house, even towards esteemed students such as Hermione. A twitch of ire sparked in his mind, and Harry was amazed that Snape was acting with such salient impertinence in front of another teacher; was this another sign of his hatred toward Professor Zelbess? Narrowed eyes focusing on the sneering Potions Master, Harry suddenly realized the cool expression on Irenes' face, her hands reaching into the sleeves of her pearly, white robes, gripping what seemed to be a wand.

"Well, Professor Snape…" she said with minimal bite, drawing out a cobalt wand. With a simple flick and swish movement, an ebullient glow overcame the dungeon room's gaunting atmosphere, as if a dozen invisible lamps had been lit all at once. A look of horror overcame Snape's composure, and Harry swore he noticed a cringe in his stature before Irenes finally spoke again, "…I really can't and won't understand how these students even learn anything in such a dark room; they're eyes must be in such poor condition…"

"If you don't _mind_, Professor Zelbess," a low growl growing in Snape's voice, he too brandished his own wand, a raven black one that seemed to beam with negative energy, "But I would like to rule this classroom with my own conduct, if you don't mind…"

"Oh, of course not," Irenes replied sharply, noticing that the new-birthed light had been extinguished, the eternal darkness settling in one more; Harry's eyes were becoming quite fuzzy, having to adjust so sporadically, "Please, proceed…"

Heels clicking on the cobbled floor, the professor sat at the desk nearest to Harry's, which was pleasing for him; it was good to have a good-hearted adult nearby during any of Snape's classes. The tension that had mounted in the class evidently had dispersed like the morning fog, as Irenes normally sympathetic gaze was restored, that unceasingly empyreal glance repossessed.

"Now…" Snape paused momentarily, giving a quick glare over to Irenes' general vacinity, "Today we're going to start making an extremely complex Ameliorating brew, one so powerful it can cure most Muggle ailments the moment it washes down your gullet…failure to compose this liquid will result in a deduction of 20 points from your house…"

Neville Longbottom, an accident-prone member of the Gryffindor house, gave a large gulp, his face pasty white, almost sickeningly gray. Harry knew Snape would be hovering over Neville like a second shadow the entire time; the boy had proved over the years to have a knack for ruining cauldrons and wasting ingredients during the Potions class.

"20 points?" Irenes suddenly spoke up, a thin, brown eyebrow raising skeptically. Snape nearly dropped his writing chalk as he was scrawling directions over his blackboard.

"Doesn't that seem awfully arbitrary? You can't be serious…"

"This should be great…clash of the titans…" Ron whispered over to Harry, his voice masked by Snape's sudden, vindictive harangue.

"How dare you! You were brought into this class to take notes, like the student you still are, not to stand there and correct me like a mumbling fool!" he was breaking at the seems, huffing and puffing indignantly, as he prodded a single finger towards the dungeon's porthole.

"No one's making you stay here, unless you want to be dismissed from Hogwarts like an illiterate student…"

"Now why would anyone want that…" Irenes said soothingly, but Harry suddenly saw her standing up from her seat, "Although I really can't say I care for you attitude…why is it that you can favor your own student, those from your own house, and yet be so impudent to a teacher who belongs to neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin?"

Motioning towards the groups of Slytherin students, cocking her head to one side curiously, Snape appeared to be aghast, clutching a hand to his chest. As Irenes was nearly out of the room, he dashed over, wrenching her back into the room with a single hand that was grasping the front of her opalescent robes, his face leering into hers. Despite his cruel frown, Irenes still seemed at peace, and this was something the entire class marveled at: a teacher that kept her cool while being fumed at by Snape himself.

"Because…" he started, lowering his voice, so that only Harry could actually descry what he was uttering, "Your likeness disturbs me…"

Irenes, wide-eyed in disbelief, drew her hand back, shocked by his statement, and a flask, the same flask Harry had seen in Diagon Alley, shot out of her sleeve's inner pockets, quietly rattling on the floor as she quickly left the room.

Bending over inconspicuously, Harry seized the phial, careful not to attract any attention, pretending to discreetly tie his shoelaces. But as he arose to a sitting position, he saw Malfoy, lips pursed, staring back at him, him and the flask Harry had in his hands. Slipping it into his bag, Harry slit his eyes and Malfoy retracted, face turning away.

* * *

"Did you see the way he acted towards her! I can't believe his rudeness was at such an extreme!" Hermione exclaimed hotly, hands at her hips as they as raced out of the dungeons keep, checking their schedules a second time.

"How could we miss it, Hermione?" Ron spat out, still befuddled by the whole thing. Harry, however, said nothing; his hand kept on reaching inside his supplies bag, fingers wrapping around the cold body of Irenes' silver flask, images of his earlier meeting with the enigmatic teacher flashing in his mind. Why had Malfoy looked at his in such a way…was there something about the flask that he wanted…and if so, why?

"Ah, yes! Hagrid's class is next! God, I just hope we don't study those stinkin' Blast-Ended Skrewts…no matter, anything's better then Snape's class…" Ron said exultingly, pleased to be seeing both a professor and friend for the next hour, "What do you think, Harry?"

As they reached the front lawns of the Hogwarts' castle, a long, outstretched campus of endless green hills and lakes, Harry suddenly realized that Ron was speaking to him. Forcing a quick smile, he gave a quick nod, still intent on discovering flasks secret; it was obvious there was more to it that he had thought of before.

Hagrid, the half-giant groundskeeper of Hogwarts, taught the Care of Magical Creatures lesson, a class that could become increasingly dangerous due to the professor's delight in handling potentially jeopardous beasts. In his 3rd year at Hogwarts, although Harry secretly relished in the memory, Malfoy had been wounded by the hippogriff, the very same one Sirius now owned. It had been Malfoy's fault entirely, though; he had foolishly insulted the animal, causing it to lash out and claw his arm.

As they neared Hagrid's classroom, which doubled as his cottage, both Hermione and Harry picked up a rather pleasant scent fuming from the hut's chimney; Ron was still chattering on about the Potions class to really pay attention to much else. Although class was not to begin for another twenty minutes (they were given a short break in between classes to retrieve new books and supplies from their dormitories), they still continued, entranced by the intriguing smell that was permeating stronger now as they closed in on the cabin's entrance. The emanation was hanging so thickly in the air, it was almost tangible, like you could reach out and break off a chuck of the odor and shove it into your pocket for later sniffing.

"What is that fragrance…its almost…intoxicating…" Hermione said, tossing her head a little to shake off the feeling of being in a trance, led by this overpowering scent.

"I wonder…wonder if its part of today's lesson…"

Just then, laughing emerged from the straw-thatched hut, light and soft-winded at first, but then boisterous and cheerful, and it was this tittering that lessened the hypnotic powers of the irresistible aroma, snatching the three students out of their mesmerized funk (Ron had finally stopped babbling and had, too, smelled the alluring redolence). Cautiously approaching the large, wooden planked hatchway, Harry laid his hand on the iron doorknob, but before he could give it a tug, the portal swung open like a great, wide mouth yawning fiercely. Yelping and giving a short leap backwards, nearly standing on Hermoine's tiny feet, Harry was soon relieved of his shock when he saw Hagrid standing beyond the doorway, a tiny portion of his great smile just visible beneath his chaotic beard.

"Why, hello t'ere, Harry!" he beamed, his pudgy nose still red from laughter, eyes squinting in delight to see his three favorite pupils and comrades, "Comon' in why don' yah…I've got a friend 'ere right now, tho'…hope yah don' min' it!"

"Of course not, Hagrid, we're always happy to see you!" Hermione answered in a singsong fashion, still feeling the effects of the enrapturing bouquet, although its hold was rapidly wearing thin.

"Especially after Snape's class of crap…" Ron added smugly, scrunching his nose distastefully. Draping his large, black tote bag over his shoulder, he was the first to enter, but soon found quite a stun waiting inside,

"Its-Its you!"

Sitting in Hagrid's oversized armchair, her body only occupying a meager third of the available space, was Irenes Zelbess, her legs crossed over one another, a glazed, clay-cup held securely in her hands. She gave Ron a placid smile to ease all his initial distress, and then stood from up from her chair.

What happened next was most unusual and alarming to all the others, but Harry was the first to notice a certain quakiness in the woman's knees, an unease building up her expression as she suddenly toppled back into her chair, a hand clapped to her forehead, which had taken on a gray, sticky hue.

"Professor Zelbess, is somethin' wrong?" Hagrid gave a loud gasp, leaping to the chair's side, grasping a role of parchments and using it to fan the woman. But it seemed to be to no avail, for even Harry seemed to have forgotten the one thing that could save the woman. Water was spewing forth from her mouth, billowing like a bursting fountain, and a large puddle of it was soaking the ground as her eyes becoming pearlish white.

"Is she dying or something!" Ron cried out suddenly, dropping his things with a mighty clunk, already starting to panic, while Hermione raced through her texts to look for a charm or spell, not uttering a single word. Throwing the book down in disgust, she then stood up in dismay.

"I thought I bought a book on advanced healing spells in Diagon Alley the other day!" she whined, kicking the book in displeasure. As Irenes vomited another waterfall of water, she shot her strained eyes up at Harry, as if to send some unspoken message. Harry's eyes became alight, as if the cogs in his mind suddenly started to turn, the memories of days past flooding his senses once more, intuition overlapping frenzy and chaos.

"Stand back, Hagrid! I know what to do!" Harry said in a voice louder that was louder then he had intended it to be, ripping the polished canteen out of his school bag, and hastily screwing off the top. Carefully, he held it close to the woman's trembling lips, and slowly poured the contents into her mouth, and for the first time, noticed how intensely, how strangely blue the water was, like a liquid sapphire.

"There…that should do it…"

"Harry! What are yeh doin'? Do yeh know wat your givn' her teh drink?" pulling Harry away from the faint professor with one of his massive, paw-like hands, Hagrid seemed worried that he had just giving Irenes poison.

"Don't worry! I've seen this before…" Harry said reassuringly, turning back to the woman's aid. Hermoine was biting her fingernails, her large front teeth protruding out of her mouth like a woodchuck, and Ron, who had been for the last thirty seconds yelling out the windows for help, was now also anxiously awaiting a change in the poor, suffering Irenes' condition.

"Please…let this work…"

Like a sunrise out of darkness, the brilliant, pewter color finally filled her corneas, and, like in Diagon Alley, a healthy glow projected out from her skin once more. With one last, water-sodden choke, Irenes released her head out of her hands, looking around the room and at the worried faces staring down upon her. She must have thought it comical, for Harry noticed that the woman was now quietly laughing, nearly unnoticeable at first, and although her face was drenched in sweat, she seemed perfectly well now.

"Professor Zelbess…what the devil just happened…" Ron blurted out, still quite afraid of what might happen; for all he might now, the woman's head could go flying off her neck anytime now.

"Oh…I'm so sorry to have worried you…" Irenes said, holding back another giggle, now successfully standing up from the dragon's hide chair, looking towards Harry, who was still clutching the flask tightly.

"Not many know…of…of well…you saw what happened…"

"Blimey! We more t'en jus' saw it!" Hagrid said, relieved that Irenes had regained her health, but he still looked weathered as well, out of breath. He motioned to the puddles of water on the floor of his hut before looking back at the teacher with another worry-stricken look.

"I must first ask you, Mr. Potter: where did you find my flask?" she said calmly, her internal glow seeming to radiate towards the young boy, convincing him that all would be alright, that all revealed information would be for the good of things.

"I-I found it after you left Snape's class…I-it dropped onto the floor…" Harry stuttered violently, glasses slipping down his narrow, thin nose, nearly falling of his amazed face. Once more, he felt an icy chill sweeping up his mind, numbness filling his forehead.

"I see…that man has a funny way of greeting guests, I'll say…" she replied carelessly; Harry judged that by the cold stare she was emitting, whatever bitterness Snape held against Irenes had now become mutual.

"And he certainly has a keen way with words, too."

"That's Snape for you…" Hermione piped in, hurriedly putting her books onto the nearby table, still intent on preparing for class despite all else, "Always making one feel right at home…"

"Anyway…I must ask you, all of you, not to mention this to the others…rumors may spread…" Irenes said furtively, "This would mean a great deal to me, Hagrid, my old friend."

"Friend? How long have you know Professor Zelbess?" Harry, still lost in the tizzy of things, had now reclaimed his focus, voice increasing in volume steadily "And if so, how come you didn't know what to do?"

"Harry! I don' know ev'rything that 'appens in the world…'ow was I s'pose teh know!" Hagrid rebutted, a little alarmed by Harry's sudden outburst, but Irenes soon interjected, calming the rough waters that might quell between the best of friends.

"Please! I can explain!" she said forcefully, but with great mollification, motioning the four wondering individuals to sit, folding her thin, graceful arms in front of her, "I arrived at Hogwarts when I was very young…I can't even remember how old I might have been…I suspect I was at least 7 or 8…

"How I got there, I cannot discern…It's something I've lost…along with the rest of my memories before that night, a stormy night. Stumbling along the grassy lawn, I tripped and fell…I'm surprised I'm still alive to this day after that night…."

"Unfortunately…" Hagrid took up the story suddenly, as if he had some integral role in this play of things, face becoming rather tight, "I saw Professor Zelbess walkin' 'round 'bout outside…t'ought it might be intruders or somethin'

"So, I accidentally knocked the poor lass out…on'y stunned. I brought 'er back to teh castle an' had 'er meet 'ol Dumbledore 'imself!"

"It was most gracious of him to have let me stay in the castle…although Professor Dumbledore cannot seem to find a way to reveal my past…" Irenes soft, peaceful voice grew quite mournful, and Harry understood why; to not know your true past for so long, to be forced into living a lie, was sometimes a terrible burden.

"But about my illness…it seems to be a form of the AquaLung Curse…an ancient calamity that causes the afflicted person to suffer occasional spasms of water-induced pain. There is no cure, but I have recently found a Potion that can help subside the effects…I am most gracious to you, Mr. Potter, that you have helped me on two occasions now…"

"Water-induced?" Hermione's interest picked up, her eyes brightening with immense vividness; she always jumped at the opportunity to learn something new, "Shall we be learning about that in your class, Professor Zelbess?"

"Ah, my dear Miss Granger…I'm afraid we won't be getting into those levels of Cursory until much, much later…" an admiring smile washing onto her now shimmering face, Irenes slowly peered out the window,

"I see the rest of your classmates are arriving, Harry…I'm most glad to see none of those Slytherin folks amongst them…I swear I've never seen a more foul group of ruffians then those that Severus rules over…"

All five of them, this being said, could not resist the bought of laughter that soon filled the hut.


	6. Malfoy's Plot

Chapter 5: Malfoy's Plot

Never before had Harry been so bewildered by the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, so deeply engrossed in what he was learning. In past years, he had been shown the mysticism of the Dark Arts, even seem a few of the Unforgivable Curses (a slew of hexes so horrible they would earn the user a life sentence in the Azkaban Prison) performed on helpless arachnids. And of course, he had once been subject to one of the most nefarious curses in all existence, the "Avada Kadavra" spell, when Lord Voldemort had visited his parent's home so many years ago.

Very fresh in Harry's memory was his experiences with Professor Lupin, where he was set against a formidable creature known as the Boggart, which would transmogrify itself into a person's worst fears. It was also with this very same teacher that Harry was able to produce at will his guardian Patronus, a spiritual partner that had developed from a pitiful white cloud to a majestic stag. Had it not been for Lupin and his direction, Harry would have surely fallen victim to the ghost-like Dementors.

But unlike her predecessors, Professor Zelbess found it paramount, almost to an absurd extreme, to teach the myriads of resistance spells available to 5th year students. Mounted in the vast number of bookcases were scores of novels and texts, many larger than all of Harry's combined, and he knew Hermione would have an unbearable ache to get her hands on just one of them after the class was over. Her eyes gleamed wildly as the students quietly filed into the room, not sure what to expect from such an unorthodox professor like Irenes.

"Now, I'm at an understanding that during your 4th year, many of you witnessed the effects of some deadly curses," she had said at the very start of class, her room a concoction of charts, lists, and white candles. Every inch of the room was inexplicably clean, neatly arranged, and fresh smelling.

"However…I also perceive that you had _not_ acquired much or any knowledge on how to deflect these abominations of Dark magic…

"Therefore, you shall learn as I did, how to protect yourself, discern when to cast a defense spell, counter jinx's, and most importantly, bar yourself against many of the most powerful curses."

Although soft-voiced, Irenes seemed quite serious in this matter; Harry noticed that she touched her side pockets many times during the lessons, no doubt to make certain her flask was still there.

After announcing the terms repertoire, which included the use of Boggarts once again (much to the classes excitement, in fact), she whisked out her wand, and gave a taunting gaze to the small collection of Slytherins that were most unfortunately sitting rather closely to Hermoine's right. Harry nervously eyed the large, jagged rocks placed on the despicable student's tables, wondering just what Irenes had in store for them. Every year seemed drastically different from the last, with a new teacher and fresh teaching styles.

"Now, you students, the ones with the stones on your work benches," she said quickly, whipping out her wand; her face was composed, ready. Her free hand plunging into her robe's pouches, Irenes then slid out a small, black blindfold, carefully draping it over her eyes, "I want you to grasp your stones, and on my signal, hurl them at me, yes, straight at me…as harshly as possible."

Ron shot a look of disbelief at Harry, biting his lower lip anxiously; they both suspected and anticipated foul play from all of the Slytherins as a whole. Clutching his rocks greedily, steely eyes twinkling with malice, Malfoy, above all, seemed to be cherishing this opportunity, seeing it as an act of revenge against Irenes, for having affronted his Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape. Mouth contorting into a most awful grin, he drew his hand back, obviously winding up for a violent pitch.

"Now…on my count…" the professor said peacefully, not making visible any signs of distress, but easily holding out her wand, eyes still concealed behind the opaque, obscure blindfold, "One…Two…"

A whiz sounded across the room, like a bullet piercing the sky; Malfoy had chucked his stone prematurely, and Irenes, like a programmed automaton, drew herself up to full height, summoning up a massive gale, yellow essences streaming down from the tip of her wand.

"Repelus abstrutis!" she heralded, voice deafening, hair thrashing about uncontrollably, as the bursts of wind suddenly repelled back the stone, sending it streaking through the air, striking the wooden table where Malfoy was sitting with such force, it remained lodged in the wood, steaming from the friction that had been used against it. Mouth agape, hand still stretched forward as if he were still launching the marble rock, Malfoy was caught between shock and frightful embarrassment, the Gryffindors in the room absolutely breaking open with raucous laughter.

"Three…" Irenes finally muttered, but none of the other Slytherins dared to toss their rocks, not even Crabb or Goyle, who normally mimicked all of Malfoy's actions and deeds, no matter how malevolent. Tapping a slippered foot and peeling away her blindfold, the professor tucked away her wand, as the windstorm died away, a slight breeze being all that was left of the astounding act of defense magic. Several of her candles had been extinguished, and many of the students wore faces of impressed wonderment, except, of course, the impetuous Slytherins.

"I see you make no waste of time on making first impressions, no matter how unpleasant they may be, Mr. Malfoy…now class, can anyone tell me how I was able to predict that our model rogue would fling his stone a second too early, even with a scarf over my eyes?"

Arms shot up into the air, Hermione's coming up first, waving around as if it would grant her a million galleons to answer the question correctly. Many guessed the professor had bewitched the blinding scarf so that she could see through it, although this assumption was incorrect. Others presumed she had planted a Spying Eye elsewhere in the room, so that she could psychically monitor Malfoy's actions. But this, unfortunately for Hermione (for it had been her guess), was also erroneous. Still others believed that perhaps she had just made a wild guess according to Malfoy's normally scandalous behavior. With a gentle laugh, Irenes also labeled this prediction untrue, although she commented that this might have been the case for a Muggle.

"No…I'm sorry that none of you are correct…" Irenes finally proclaimed, after all hands had been called onto, "The secret, quite ironically, is very discreet, almost unmagical…I _felt_ Mr. Malfoy's intentions; allow me to explain.

"There is a power around us shaping our lives, the things we touch all share this force, like an invisible presence. As I focused in on this aura, at the moments when I was counting down the numbers, I felt the air tighten, the tension mount, and in Mr. Malfoy's locality, a certain, unmistakable sensation of malice, of bad intentions. It was then that I knew when to cast the Repelus Barrier, one that utilizes the immeasurable essence of wind to protect us."

"But, Professor Zelbess!" Hermione's arm suddenly speared the air like a white, hot knife, nearly smacking Harry's face, "I've _never_ heard of such a magical theory as this…how do you know it exists?"

"Why, Miss Granger, I'm surprised you've even brought that up," Irenes tittered, leaning against the table a little, her hand pointing at Hermione's school bag, sitting against the legs of her chair, "Could you tell us: What causes a wand to create magical effects?"

"That's easy…" Hermione said snobbishly, delighted to be displaying her hard-earned intellect. Straightening her back, Hermione clasped hands in front of her, "It's caused by the magical artifacts stored in our wands. When we recite an incantation or charm, the curio inside the wand transfigures the…the energies…around us…"

Hermione looked absolutely abashed and mortified by her own foolhardiness. Irenes, however, gave her a peaceful smile, patting her on the head.

"I knew you could tell me the correct answer, while at the same time come to your own understanding," she said admiringly, "I saw you reading your "Rudimentary Magical Skills" handbook the other day. I hope that all of you are also keeping up with your studies…remember to return to old textbooks, for if we discard what we learn to make room for new wisdom, then we only make ourselves less knowledgeable as a whole.

"Now, what Miss Granger has told us is entirely true, that we can redirect the energies about us to perform a needed change. Also, we can feel the energies around us, let them tell us what we cannot see.

"If one learns to become aware to this heightened insight, one can therefore feel the presence of negativity. Unlike some people who work only on suspicions and moderate intuition, this perception is always truthful, never an assumption…

"And unlike the very untrustworthy skill of crystal gazing and Tarot card reading, these premonitions are more then just idle conjectures (This comment caused Ron to snicker uncontrollably, for he knew, as did Harry, that Irenes was referring to Professor Trelawny's Divination class).

"We can learn to approach the Dark Arts with an added advantage if we can sense the proper warnings of evil, see what others cannot, and feel the foreboding effects of black wizardry."

Glaring intensely on Malfoy, his lip trembling as Harry had never seen it before, Irenes walked towards the front of her room, and with a sweeping motion or her hands, relit her candles, their cheery warmth dispersing around the room. Many were levitating in the room, looming over desks and tables to supplement extra illumination where it was required.

"Now…I suspect all of you are wondering when you shall contact this natural force," she said with all-knowing tone, pewter eyes shining in the candlelight, their light fragrance aloft in the wonton room,

"We shall start in the next few days the painstaking process in achieving this…but first I want you all to get started on tonight's homework…we won't be having a test for a few weeks, so use this time wisely to prepare yourselves…

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy, 30 points will be taken from Slytherin, for intended assault against a professor; be very, very glad it's not any more then that…"

Chewing fretfully on the feathered end of his quill, Malfoy did not dare return the stabbing gaze that was being delivered towards him from Irenes' wide-eyes.

* * *

The rest of the day passed smoothly enough, with no further engagements with either Malfoy or any of the other, sneering Slytherin house members, and for this Harry was quite thankful of; he had had enough trouble with this sort of thing in Snape's class. As the end of the busy first day neared it's end, with a verdant dinner meeting them in the Great Hall, both Ron and Harry found themselves sitting down to supper without the usual company of Hermione.

"Where do you suppose she went off to…the library to study?" Ron sighed, very much used to Hermoine's rigorous erudition, stuffing her brain with any knowledge she could access. Munching on an apple, Ron suddenly dropped the bitten-into fruit onto the floor, "Harry! Your bag…its-its glowing like a light bulb!"

Eyes darting towards the direction Ron's finger was pointing at, Harry found that his tote was indeed quite ebullient. Tossing the bag onto the floor in front of his knees, beneath the dinner table, he quietly reached in, touched the artifact that was causing the luminosity.

"Why, it's the journal!" Harry said bewildered, pulling out the leather-bound text, the ragged cover pulsating with a light blue brilliance. Quickly concealing it beneath the tablecloth, resting it on his lap, Harry tore open the book, and noticed that underneath his terse note to Sirius, the one he had scribbled while still at the Dursleys', was a one paragraph letter, the words gleaming with an eerie glow. Harry then remembered that he had forgotten to send his godfather the letter he had scripted in the morning, wondering if his obliviousness was endangering the situation.

"I guess this is what happens to the receiving journal…"

"Harry-

I'm glad that you will be leaving that place, and I apologize for being slow to respond. I have been traveling towards Hogwarts for many days, and food is becoming harder and harder to pilfer. I cannot risk being seeing in public, so I usually inhabit my Animagi form. Please do not worry for me, as I am nearing the castle as I write this. Take care of yourself, and if anything unusual happens, that is, unusual in a wizard's case, please write ASAP.

-Sirius"

"Guess I'll have to be on the lookout for a big, black dog now…" Harry muttered to Ron, closing the journal, which had begun to loose its throbbing brightness, "Sirius is trying to get back to Hogwarts…he's worried about that reflection…and I haven't yet told him of Professor Zelbess and that flask of hers…"

"Harry, do you really think this is that important that Sirius has to drag himself back here?" Ron swallowed his chicken quickly, cocking his head to one side, "I mean, the whole mirror business was unusual…but it wasn't like the shards were attacking you…"

"You're right…but I'll sleep easier while Sirius is here…" Harry replied, slipping his diary back into his bag, just as Hermione burst into the room, face flushed, arms carrying an armada of old text books.

"Hermoine, what are you doing with those?"

"No time for that…" she gasped out, slamming the texts onto the floor once she had reached Harry and Ron, breathes short and ragged, mouth wide open, "I…I…saw…Draco…library…"

"Wait a sec! Catch your breath first!" Ron suggested, handing her a chalice of water, but she rejected it, plopping into the seat, still huffing coarsely.

"Don't worry…" her gasps lessening, Hermione speedily collected up her books, piling them atop the table, continuing only all of them had been accounted for, "I'm alright…but Miss Zelbess might not be…while in the library…I saw Malfoy and a couple other Slytherins, peering over some written out plans; I couldn't get closer enough to listen very well, but I swear I heard them mention Zelbess and her flask…"

Harry's face blanched. He had been wary of Malfoy and his pernicious deeds before, but never before had he openly plotted against a professor. Drumming his fingers erratically against the oak table, Harry then recalled all the instances in which Malfoy had desired the silver flask for himself, probably for some disreputable purpose.

"We have to warn her…before Malfoy steals that flask from her; we have to stop Malfoy…" Harry said, and without finishing their dinner, the trio stood up abruptly, retrieved their things, and silently left the Hall.

* * *

Unlike his first year at Hogwarts, where he had been entirely clueless as to where even the bathrooms were located, Harry had by now established a firm understanding of the castle's layout. With the added assistance of his Marauder's Map, an enchanted blueprint that revealed all of Hogwarts' secret passageways and clandestine catacombs, Harry could maneuver around the castle with much freedom and assurance and confidence.

Located on the second floors of the school were Professor Zelbess' classroom, as well as Professor Sprout and Flitwick's. But to their dismay, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally reached her room, it was horribly vacant, save the not-very appreciated presence of Filch, who was busy sweeping the floors with his shabby, threadbare shaker-broom. Filch was what some people called a Squibb, that is, a person born from a wizarding family but they themselves have no magical properties in their blood. And because of this predicament, Filch could not wield magic to aid him in cleaning; indeed, it was strange to see an inhabitant of Hogwarts that was not wielding a wand or chanting out loud to sweep the floor.

"What do yah want, I'm busy…" he sneered as Harry entered the room first, a little shocked by Filch's initial abhorrence. The caretaker had never been so quick to dislike Harry in previous years; perhaps it was the fact that he was in such a mellow room as Irenes'.

"Um…well, we were looking for Professor Zelbess…" Hermione suddenly popped her head through the doorway, curiously looking about the room at Irenes' plethora of charms and texts, at the magnificent array of purple and blue candles adorning her speech alter. Most of all, a very secretive-looking silver cabinet sitting far back in the chamber seemed to ignite Hermione's interest, as she eyed this for several seconds before speaking again.

"Do you know where we might find her, Mr. Filch?"

"Well, I'm not fo' sure…but you can try 'n look 'n the Faculty lounge…might be'n there…" Filch sneered again, as if aiding the students in their search had been too much to ask. Turning away from Hermione, he continued with his cleaning, muttering in an inarticulate manner, and obviously trying to rid himself of the company of any Gryffindors.

"Let's go…we can't stall any longer." Harry said firmly, tugging at Hermione's sleeve to draw her back out into the hallway, the light being provided by the glass windows fading with the sun's descent. Ron, who had taken watch outside the doorway, looked eagerly towards Harry.

"Did you tell her?" he asked impatiently, worried that Snape would find them lurking about the castle halls after dinner. Although there was certainly nothing wrong in doing this, Ron knew that the notoriously mean teacher would use any chance to discredit him and his friends, just to belittle them.

"No, she wasn't in there, but Filch told us where she might be…" Harry said abruptly, still dragging Hermoine by her arm as he started to dash down the darkening corridor towards the nearest staircase; the staffroom was on the next floor up.

"Where!" Ron said excitedly, racing after Harry, who had released Hermione, her feet pattering behind him. Not a word was exchanged the entire time they tore through hallway after endless hallway; it was hard to imagine Harry actually knew his way around the terrifyingly maze-like castle. But years and years of getting lost had fine-tuned his navigational abilities, so it was like flicking on the kitchen light to Harry.

When they were about 3 doors away from the Faculty Lounge, Harry suddenly stopped short, feet skidding on the ground, Hermione nearly bashing in to him as she stopped a moment too late.

"Harry, what are you doing…we're nearly there!" she shouted, but Harry quickly silenced her with a single hand motion, as he then jutted a finger to the opposite end of the passageway, where three shadowy figures were slinking about like scurrying rats.

"That must be Malfoy and his cronies…They must of beat us here…" Harry said disdainfully, as the forms disappeared around the bend of the spiral staircase. Beating a fist into the stone walls, Harry moved forward, in the direction the shadows had appeared from,

"We've got to see just who that was; it could have been Malfoy stealing the flask…"

"Harry! Listen to yourself!" Hermione cried out, pulling Harry back into reality, "We came here to warn Miss Zelbess, not to go around into further sneaking…we might get caught…get detention…"

"She's right, even I don't think it's too brainy to go after whoever that was…it might have just been some house elves or something!" Ron interposed, an anxious expression filling his face, but the discussion of elves was soon halted by a penetrating stare from Hermione, who disliked the subject of "Elf Slavery", as she put it.

"I-I guess you're right, guys, I'm sorry…lets go check it out…" Harry said softly, wondering what zeal had come over him so quickly, why was he so enthusiastic to leap into trouble these days?

The door to the staffroom was already half open, a bright shaft of light splitting across the hallway, and Harry made no attempt to hide the sounds his footsteps made as he walked casually towards the porthole. Inside, Harry found himself faced with a most comforting scene, as the room was filled with succoring chitchat of a magical sort, many of the teachers sipping coffee from their glass goblets. Irenes was sitting near one of the windows, gazing intently out the transparent frame, not giving much heed to the chorus of laughter behind her.

Nervously budging the door open a little, Harry entered the room, gaining him the attention of the professors, who regarded him with a most precarious glare.

"I was merely wondering if Professor Zelbess could spare a moment…" Harry noticed how quiet the room had become, and guessed the inhabitants minded the admittance of students. But Irenes, who had heard her name mentioned, slowly turned about, gazing at him curiously.

"Of course I'll spare a moment…but please spare me the formalities, Harry, we're not in a classroom anymore…" she replied kindly, and a majority of the professors suddenly gasped just as though someone had muttered a curse; some of them were now glaring at Irenes as would be if she had a large purple wart growing out of her delicate nose. Harry wondered if it was because of her answer that they were acting so apprehensively. She was amazingly young; perhaps they were just jealous.

Following Harry out of the lounge, Irenes carefully closed the door behind her. Giving a little laugh as she noticed the two other students standing near the doorway.

"Three of you!" she said with a grin, shaking back her tresses of brown and blue, winking an eye to all of them, "And you can call me Irenes…it's getting monotonous being referred to as Professor all the day long…"

"Professor, I mean, Irenes," Harry began awkwardly, it wasn't every day a teacher told you to act on a first name basis at Hogwarts, "We came to warn you…we think Malfoy might be trying to steal your flask, the one that helps you with your Aqua-thingy curse…"

"Are you absolutely sure?" her voice became pensive at once, hands suddenly rustling about into her pocket, pulling out the aforementioned container, "How did you find this out?"

"I saw them…" Hermione soon joined in gravely, giving a nod, "Malfoy was in the library, acting very strangely, more then usual, and he said something about you and that little bottle…"

Lips tightening, eyes falling onto the floor, at her nimble feet, Irenes began to mutter silently to herself, and Harry felt his lungs constrict, his hands become sweaty, and a sensation as though he was between two stone slabs overcame him. A moment later and he saw the interiors of the Defense against the Dark Art's antechamber materialize around him, as though he were being painted out.

"How…how did you do that?" Harry stuttered, feeling his own face, making sure he was all there.

"Seriously, Harry, I thought you would have been first to figure this one out…it's obvious that we've Apparated!" Hermoine explained in her usual way, making Harry feel rather stupid for not knowing that answer.

"How was I to know, Hermione? It's not like I've done it before…" he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose a little further, "Anyway, why are we here, Irenes?"

"Because, we needed to talk where no other ears can be found…where no spies are lingering," she said quietly, moving over to her desk, lighting a couple candles so that her face was soon illuminated and pale-looking. Moving about her cluttered desk, Irenes soon cleared away enough of her supplies and papers, pulling out her flask.

"I must ask all of you again, not to speak of this to anyone…what I'm about to do is strictly forbidden of any student-teachers…you must understand."

Not waiting for any reply or nodding of heads, the professor spun the top off, and poured much of the contents onto the table. Harry wondered why, if this liquid was so precious to her health was she wasting it so insensibly? But he gandered that more was to be revealed, a Irenes promptly brandished her wand, pointing towards the growing puddle that was now dripping over the edges of her desk, flooding onto the floor, touch the edges of Harry's shoes.

A slight breeze kicked into the air, which was rather odd, for no windows had been unlatched, not even by magical means, and Irenes seemed completely unperturbed, as she closed her eyes, soft lips moving quickly.

"_Rashtahala…menorico…gorlingulo rashtahala…nostu beta_…" the words slid from her mouth endlessly, perfect gibberish to Harry's ears, he looked at Ron and Hermione, seeing the same look of puzzlement he was wearing, before turning back to Irenes.

As she was chanting, the siroccos increasing in strength, Hermoine's frazzled hair whipping out from beneath her robe's hood, the water that had been sloshing around suddenly was given a malleable form. Lurching up from the table, the water to peer upward at Irenes, who opened up her pewter eyes, now bordering ghostly white.

"Go…seek out the boy Malfoy…seek out his evil intentions…" her voice echoed unnaturally, eyes unblinking, and Irenes dismissed the liquid creature, which sprang off the table, causing Ron, trembling and pale, to leap to one side. It sped across the floor, slipping underneath the doorway, out of sight.

Irenes, seemingly pleased by this course of events, returned to her calm self, placing the flask back into her pocket.

"Don't worry, Ron, it would not have hurt you…may have left you a little soaked, but nothing a little towel couldn't cure…" she smiled again, going down on one knee before Ron, embracing him for a moment to ease his distress.

"That was a Mellifloy, a creature born only from enchanted water to do whatever the conjuror demands…only a few people can manifest it, and fortunately, I am one of those few…"

"But, won't you get in trouble, won't the other teachers see it and chase it back here?" Ron exclaimed fretfully, still with Irenes' arms around him. With one last comforting squeeze she released him, and this seemed to help Ron, although Harry wondered if her arms were as icy cold as her hands.

"Do not worry, Ron, for the Mellifloy is quick, efficient, and can hide in any place that bears a nook or cranny; I really doubt it will be seen…" Irenes said, standing up to her full height, placing her wand onto her desk, straightening up her robes, which had become very tangled and disorderly because of the sudden oncoming of wind.

"Professor, er, Miss Zelbess…" Hermione began, face confused and hands crossed in front of her.

"Irenes, please," the student teacher insisted again to be referred by her first name.

"I'm sorry…Irenes…just what was that language you were speaking, when you were conjuring the Mellifloy…it sounded very subhuman," she asked inquiringly, and Ron soon added in.

"Yeah, kinda like a magical foreign language!" red-hair still a little harried, Ron stepped closer to the professor, white robes seeming to glow with an otherworldly effulgence.

Just then, a voice that did not belong to Irenes, emerged from behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. It sounded deathly cold, tipped with daggers, with enough venom to kill an ox.

"It was the language of the Merpeople, a forbidden dialect to those unqualified, such as yourself, Professor Zelbess…"


	7. Professor Zelbess' Debacle

Chapter 6: Professor Zelbess' Debacle

If Severus Snape had smiled ever in his life, it could never have looked as positively malicious as it did now. His lips were curling at their ends, his sallow skin pinking with triumphant energy. Even his black, inky eyes, normally deadened and harrowing, were twinkling with enthusiasm. One hand was dutifully clutching his wand, raised threateningly in Irenes' direction, probably pointing in between her eyes. His other hand was wrapped around a small phial, a milky, blue substance swishing around inside of it; Harry realized then that he had trapped the Mellifloy. It squirmed about pitifully, making short, squeaking noises that water perhaps made when it was rubbed against a smooth surface.

"I always knew you were trouble, Professor Zelbess," Snape said in a silky voice, moving forward, the sharp tip of his wand coming dangerously close to Irenes' glaring face. Both Ron and Hermoine were shell-shocked, standing behind her tall, elegant form, while Harry stood defiantly by her side, although he didn't even dare to raise his voice against the brooding, thin teacher.

"Always the rule breaker…has that Potter boy been a cruel influence on you, or did you yourself decide to act against school rules? Do you think yourself a full-fledged professor yet?"

"I must ask you to leave, Professor Snape," she returned his question with a witty voice, pushing the wand's point out of her face, nearly causing it to slip out of his slimy hands, "This is my classroom, I do whatever I please within its constraints…"

"Ah, but my dear professor…you were acting outside of your classroom, I daresay, by using this foul incantation…a Mellifloy, I believe?" he spoke cunningly, gesturing toward the filled container, the water-creature pathetically ensnared within its prison of glass, "I found this thing lurking about the Slytherin house dormitories, and traced it back here…snooping about, hmm?"

"That," Irenes said with a controlled voice, straining not to lash out against the interrogating Snape, "Is my own business…now I'm only going to ask you once more, please leave…"

"Humph! I must say, Potter, your trouble-seeking sort must pleasure in flocking amongst one another…" Snape retorted, not taking a step back, but continued to annoy and prick at the woman's mental defenses. If what Irenes had said about the air taking shape to a person's feelings and intentions, she must be consumed and choked by Snape's vehemence by now; even Harry could sense a sort of tangible dread.

"You're so unorthodox, Zelbess, I'll fancy seeing you leave Hogwarts! Dumbledore most certainly will see to it after I tell him of your spying, and with the use of illegal magical languages nonetheless, even though the one your tongue spoke is rather useless, so outdated…I'm sure the Ministry will have a field day dealing with you!"

"I was never told that Mermaidian was proscribed or illicit…not even by Dumbledore, and he knows I can speak it!" Irenes bit back fiercely, as if a personal arrow had pierced her heart. Harry noticed a twinge in her facial muscles, the temples on her forehead pounding like a mad tympani.

"And anyway, I had reason to be watchful of your precious Slytherins! I was nearly certain that they are planning something…something naughty…"

"Naughty!" Snape said innocently, "Why would they do anything in that sort! I myself am their supervisor, and I grant you my assurance that they would never undergo anything you classify as "naughty"!"

"Coming from you, Professor, I wouldn't be so certain…" taken aback by Snape's crude denying, Irenes clasped a hand over her chest, "I'd be surprised if a single being on the earth could ever take a liking to a man with such a cold being."

The words had been said very softly, but, as if he had been hit by a pair of rogue Bludgers, Snape suddenly became significantly staggered. His face paled over, and for the first time he set down his wand-holding hand, lowering it to his side. Eyes filled with malice sparked, Snape slammed the Mellifloy-containing vial onto the nearest table, tromping over to the doorway much like Irenes had done during his own class.

Snape's face was filled with flaming ire, and it frightened Ron to the point that he was wildly clutching the ends of Irenes' robes. Irenes, however, seemed to be enjoying the entire ordeal, her full lips lifting up into a faint grin.

"And what would you happen to know about that sort of pathetic thing? You're just a fresh, disrespectful, child!" Snape bitterly snapped back, spit flinging out of his mouth, his mouth open to reveal sharp canines.

"I'm 32, I'll have you know, plenty old enough to know about compassion and feelings!" snatching up the phial, and pouring the contents back into her silver flask.

"Well, then that makes me 11 years past your senior, then doesn't it? Good for you then!" he rebutted, apparently running out of comebacks, finally dismissing himself from the chamber, his rabid footsteps heard trudging down the hallways.

"You're 32, Professor-err-Irenes?" Ron suddenly blurted out, as Hermione gave him a scorching stare. Harry imagined (as he suspected Ron did) that the teacher was looking enchantingly pretty for her age. If this alarmed Irenes in any way, she concealed it rather well, her face not even slightly flushing.

"Yes, I'm sorry, however, that you had to witness that, I never expected him to find the Mellifloy…" she said quietly, head bowing down in worry, distressed by Snape's threats to have her removed from Hogwarts, "Never expected him…to be so watchful…"

"Well, you'll soon learn, Irenes, that he'll never leave you be if he has a problem with you," Hermione explained dryly, a half-smile partially visible.

"But, what was that all about the language, thing…I've never heard of forbidden dialects…not even in any of my books…"

"Hermione, don't you think it's a bit late to be asking so many questions…" Harry spoke up, having been silent for nearly 3 minutes straight amidst a heated argument.

"It's quite alright, Harry," Irenes said grinning, always impressed by Hermione's integrity, "Snape was correct, although its never brought up much…it links back to when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still alive and well…

"During that time, he had been enlisting the aid of several species; as we all know, giants earned their nasty reputations through their past affairs with You-know-who, but they weren't the only ones. Redcaps, Basilisks, kappas, and nagas were all associated with the leagues of the Dark Side, and to speak in their tongue was to openly invite suspicion against you.

"One of the last races of mystical beasts that He was able to convert to his side were the Merpeople, which, naturally reside in the watery domains of earth. Although they did not remain at his side for long, their relation with Him forever scarred their image, which is why they are seen as ugly beasts today, for they have forsaken their beautiful pasts. Before, they could cast great magic, but now, after they had seen the brute force a wizard could yield, the Merpeople have banned all use of magic in their populace."

"How was it that you came to know this language?" Hermione furthered on, coming out from behind Irenes, sitting herself at a desk as if class were in session. Ron sighed in disbelief, while Harry gave a slight nod, trying to recall his first encounter with the labyrinth-dwelling creatures, during the Triwizard Tournament. They were certainly ugly, there was no doubt. Harry could still picture the look of absolute horror impaling their scaly, gray face when he had threatened to use magic upon them.

"I couldn't tell you that, Hermione, because I don't know that myself…" turning to face her desk, Harry knew she must be looking at her flask, and her soft voice pronounced her inner uncertainty, "But, I think you all should get to bed, before that man comes back here…I have to ready myself; I'm sure I'll be seeing Dumbledore during some of the days to come…"

"Don't worry, Irenes," Harry said, smiling kindly, "I'm sure he was only bluffing…Snape's always had a sort of hatred towards the Defense teachers…"

"Oh? And why might that be?" Irenes questioned, and at first, Harry was amazed that she had asked this, as if it were obvious. But then it dawned on him that no one had probably told her of Snape's past attempts at the job, and how all of them had failed, even been filled in by some of his worst enemies. Harry then recounted the past years for Irenes, and with each passing sentence, her eyebrows raised higher with prevalent spitefulness.

"So he's only acting like a complete, deliberate jerk! How absurd!" she said with a rush of animosity, cheeks reddening, "I never imagined a teacher, a professor, could ever be so immature…"

From behind Harry, Ron gave an earth-shattering yawn, his mouth stretching so wide; he looked ready to engulf a small car. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he muttered a squeaky "sorry"; Hermoine just sighed irritably.

"Well, off to bed, you three…I think you have all had enough excitement tonight…" Irenes playfully chided Harry, Ron, and Hermione, escorting them to the staircase, eyes darting like a pair of animated binoculars for either Snape or the other Slytherins, chiefly Malfoy.

"Oh, and I surely won't expect your homework to be completed by tomorrow…just finish it by Wednesday, alright?"

Ron gave an exuberant nod, his head ready to pop off; however, Hermione looked plainly distressed, and Harry could only predict that she had finished it during one of the day breaks. As they scurried back down the stairs, Harry made sure to give Irenes one last wave, remembered the cool comment she had made during her quarrel with Professor Snape.

_I'd be surprised if a single being on the earth could ever take a liking to a man with such a cold being…_

It kept ringing in his ears, even after they had stepped through the Gryffindor porthole, ran past the common rooms, and were saying good night to one another. His head felt light, fluffy, as if he were swimming amongst the clouds. A pounding resonance was still beating on inside his mind, even as he lay in his bed, the purple cloth pulled around the posters. He listened to the night sounds, the hooting owls and the brisk, September breeze caressing the windowpanes.

Images of Snape's face, his look of utter anxiety…Harry wondered if he had, at that moment, seen the teacher in a spot of terror, when his eyes had shot open, his face blanched to the color of off-white paper. He wondered and question, until finally, his speculation ultimately lulled him to sleep.

* * *

The next morning came to quickly, at least for Harry, who felt he had gained perhaps 15 minutes of rest, before being walloped awake by Ron's pillowcase. The feathers emerging from the beating case flurried about the room, and one came to rest on Harry's nose, tickling him, and he sneezed loudly, nearly falling out of his bed.

"It's my turn today!" Ron gave a short chuckle before whacking his friend square across the face, knowing it would do no physical harm, "Can't be late! We've got Divination this morning, and you know what means, don't ya?"

Harry knew exactly what that meant another term of pure balderdash, horse hockey, and poppycock. Both Ron and Harry had developed a rather harsh fondness of Professor Trelawny and her Divination lessons. Not that they believed any of that nonsense, especially when the teacher had predicted Harry's death countless times, and had mispredicted his own birthday month.

The only fun they could derive from Divination was creating false premonitions and star charts, where they were sought out to die, be mutilated, thrashed, and then die again. It had been great fun in previous years, except for when Professor Trelawny had entered a trance-like state while alone with Harry. Her eyes had flashed over, body rigid, muttering out the return of Lord Voldemort and his servants, known as the Death Eaters.

But despite this sudden stupor, Harry still found the time to tease the professor (who had an astonishing semblance to a saucer-eyed insect) along with Ron, who found her predictions to be ridiculous.

"Harry…" Ron suddenly said in a softer tone, tossing his pillow aside after Harry had dropped his own to retrieve his glasses, "D'you think Irenes is going to be in trouble…Snape did seem very serious last night…"

"I don't know what to say, really," Harry, too, became more solemn, "But we can expect a little more meanness out of him now…she really peeved him off, didn't she?"

They both full-heartily agreed. Never in their erstwhile years had they known such a defiant professor, although Harry considered this to be because Irenes was such a young teacher. She had remained so calm and relaxed during the whole scenario, except when Snape had affronted the Merpeople. Although Irenes appeared to be proficient with Mermaidian lore, which seemed to be looked down upon, Harry thought it rather odd that Snape had picked out this one fact, had wielded it against Irenes like a deadly weapon.

And then Irenes had counterattacked, brandishing her own verbal assault, one Harry couldn't quite shake off, and the effects had been, in their most stripped down classification, effective. Outrageously prominent was the word Harry was thinking off, as he summoned up the illustrations of Snape's fuming face, his disgust, and most of all, his outright boisterous exit.

Contemplating these few things, all related in some strange way that only could have a direct consequence on Harry, for it seemed to bother him the most, he once again prepared for the day, following Ron towards the Hall.

* * *

Incense seemed to permeate with a red, hot vengeance in the bowl shaped room, as bouquets sprinkled with jasmine and patchouli oils lined the walls. Such was Professor Trelawny's room, which had enough power in scent to knock out an unsuspecting cow. Sitting in the center of the classroom was a crystal gazing ball, resting on top of a tacky, green sheet, several decks of cards jumbled about. Tealeaves, wrinkled and probably half-glued together, also amplified the pungent fetidness.

As Harry and Ron crawled up through the circular hatch, they at once felt an ocean of odor wash over their noses.

"Jeez! Can't she lay off the smell a bit?" Ron said disgustedly, nose scrunching up. Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown, a couple of fellow Gryffindors and two of Trelawny's greatest admirers, stopped whatever they were doing to scoff at Ron's insult.

"If you don't mind, we're trying to tap into our third eye! Don't you know that takes exceptional concentration!" Pavarti flouted, beads clutched tightly in her hands, legs crossed in the full-lotus position.

Lavender gave a nod of agreement, a set of Tarot cards place irregularly around her pouf.

"And these smells only heighten our psychic awareness…" she said a matter-of-factly. The coldness in her tone should have halted the altercation from becoming any thicker, but Ron, with his wild sense of humor, couldn't bear to point out their illogicality.

"Wait, so you're saying that this smell…" Ron gestured about him at the clouds of suffocating fumes billowing about him, "Is better than our little bit of talking?"

They nodded mundanely, as if the answer were as clear as unmarked glass.

"I'll never figure you two out…I swear…" he said, Harry turning his laughter into ragged coughs as Professor Trelawny unexpectedly appeared from behind a curtain of shimmering beads. Her long, red fingernails poked through first, followed by the rest of her bony arms and nose, protruding like an elephant's trunk. She looked like a mosquito, especially with her gaping eyes, covered by a pair of incessantly gaudy glasses.

"Mr. Weasley, please take your seat, I'm expecting class shall start any moment now, judging by the lunar phase coupled by the position of Jupiter…" she said mysteriously, although it did not mystify Ron at all; he slowly made his way next to Harry, who was already sitting next to the windows. Fresh, clean, un-perfumed air was hard to come by in Trelawny's room, and any chance they had to catch some was quickly taken.

Harry was absolutely bored by the sight of Professor Trelawny, with her eccentric behavior and whimsical attitude, until, of course, she began to predict his own death; it was then that she spoke in a very grave tone, as if trying to frighten Harry. But he had known better but to believe in her silly readings; more then ever, after Professor Zelbess' class, was he trusting his own intuition, not what some dumb-fangled crystal ball was supposedly trying to tell him.

As class started, Professor Trelawny declared that this year would be the perfect opportunity to begin astral projection, or as Ron comically put it, "Excessive Day-dreaming."

"In the pitch of night, my dears," she said steadily, sitting on her winged armchair like a perching eagle, her beak-like nose probing the air, "Through Astral Projection, one can gain flight through the celestial skies, mounting into the star-filled surroundings and truly find what the future holds for them…"

Most of the students were ogling at everything the professor was spoon-feeding them, leaning forward off their cushions as Trelawny eyed them all, boring them down with her creepy, bug-eyed gaze. Harry and Ron, however, were too busy wondering when Lavender and Pavarti were going to announce their dual engagement to Professor Trelawny, seeing as they appeared to be leaping at her every spoken word.

Fortunately, when you had Ron to talk to, Harry's time in the Divinations class seemed like mere trickle of sand, and soon the bell rung inside the glowing, red room. They both leapt to their feet before anyone else and for that (she had called it disrespectful to the celestial forces), they were awarded an extra homework assignment each. Ron grumbled as he scribbled down his enlarged homework, slapping away his old, battered quill.

"Almost as bad as serving detention with Snape…" he had commented sourly, as they left the pungent, scent-infused classroom, climbing down the silver ladder towards the castle hallways. Leaving the Divination's tower was comparable to being paroled out of prison, as Harry let out a long sigh of relief, the feeling returning to his nose and head.

"I wonder how Hermione's handling Advanced Arithmancy, probably having a ball…" Harry heard Ron continue, as he himself felt terribly drained; the noxious smell and low candle light did nothing to speed along Harry's fortune-telling, it just made him extra drowsy.

"And she's most likely going to brag on about not having homework again on the first day."

"Yeah, I guess-Hey, hold the phone…look over there!" Harry suddenly pointed across the Hallway, near the staircases leading from the second floor. Trudging across the hallway was Snape, his robes flashing behind him like a great cape of midnight. But as Harry was squinting his eyes, trying to achieve a better view, he noticed something very strange.

"He looks all ruffled, the top of his shirts all buttoned up incorrectly, and his face is all red…"

"Maybe he got into a fight, wouldn't be surprised if Irenes gave him a smack after last night…" Ron replied, delighted by the thought of another teacher showing Snape just how they felt about him.

The thought struck Harry like a bolt of lightning

"Irenes…we've got to see her!" Harry said gravely, starting down the hallway before Ron could even comment on his wild imagination. Before Snape could even catch them sprinting down the staircase, they were gone, jumping 5 steps at a time.

Before they even reached the floor beneath them, Irenes appeared around the bend, and Harry had to give a sudden yell to stop her from running into them. She looked positively short-winded, her bright, pewter eyes wider then Harry had ever seen them, and her hair was an absolute fright to look at.

"Harry! What on earth are you running about for…surely you've got plenty of time before your next lesson!" she said breathlessly, her face pinking a little. Harry felt Ron push into his backside then, and he gave a quick shove backwards.

"Irenes, I mean, Professor Zelbess!" he gasped from over Harry's shoulder's, mouth dropping in surprise, "Sorry to scare you, but we just had to see if you were alright!"

"Alright? Why I'm perfectly fine!" Irenes baffled by Ron's alarm, as she quickly moved back down the staircase, Harry and Ron fast on her heels. Harry's ears were blood red with nervousness, and Ron seemed on the verge of fainting.

"But, but we saw Snape! He was coming from this floor, he looked bloody hell!" Ron cried out, and Irenes looked deeply concerned, whether for Ron's suspicions, or perhaps a latent lack of sanity.

"Are you sure? I haven't seen him down here…" with an air of puzzlement in her voice, biting her lower lip unconsciously, Irenes turned towards Harry, trying to stroke her hair into a more presentable state "What did he look like, Mr. Potter?"

Harry, astounded that she had even asked, thought for a moment before answering.

"Well, his clothes were all disorganized, like he had just woken up, and he was staring blankly…not really paying attention to much of anything…" Harry recalled the events on the upper floor to Irenes, who looked increasingly nervous.

"I see…I will check in with him myself…" she proclaimed sternly, before taking off up the stairs, "I expect you not to mention this…now, I gather you should be getting to your classes now…"

She vanished up the stairs, white robes flowing behind her.

"Harry, she just said we shouldn't be in any hurry, to get to class that is…" Ron said, honestly perplexed by Irenes' erratic behavior, how she had left them so rapidly, "What just happened?"

"I don't know…something tells me there's more to this then we think there is, Ron," heading towards the library, where they were to meet Hermione after class, Harry wondered if Irenes had been telling the truth, or covering it up.

* * *

"What do you mean Snape _attacked_ her! You haven't any proof!" Hermione said confoundedly, staring up from her Arithmancy books at Harry and Ron.

"But we saw him come up from that floor!" Harry explained for the third time, "What's more, Irenes seemed terribly nervous when we met with her in the staircases, all breathless and shaky…"

"He had to have, Hermoine, we all know he _loathes_ her!" Ron suddenly slammed Hermione's book, causing a draft of dust to fly up into his face, sending him into a fit of coughs, "He looked –cough- terrible and –cough- so did Irenes!"

As Ron was sputtering away, the librarian, Madam Pince, shot him a passionately furious look, her extremely drawn out face wrinkled with anger.

"No matter…Harry, you can't be serious!" she said, disregarding Ron's hacking, "And anyway, it really isn't any of our business."

"Okay, Hermione, but when Irenes comes into class with a cast around her neck…" Harry loomed, "I'll be the one saying 'I told you so!'"

Hermione seemed to be thinking things over, her hand brought up tensely to her mouth, which was strained and drawn up.

"And let's not forget about Malfoy, that two-faced son of a-." Ron suddenly began to fume at the thought of Draco Malfoy, but he caught himself before Madam Pince had the chance to, "I mean, the guy's up to something…always was and always will be!"

"Well, right now, neither him or Snape are my concern…" Hermione snapped back, placing her textbooks away, "It's school that I've got to worry about, with the O.W.L's coming up and all…"

Harry gulped. With all the confusion going on, he had forgotten about the Ordinary Wizarding Level exams. Professor McGonagall had ranting about them nonstop during Transfigurations class, but Harry had never really stopped to realize that they were intended solely for 5th years, which meant he would be studying more then ever. He didn't contemplate the matter for very long, though.

It was then-sounding out so loud that even quiet Madam Pince gave a short jump-that a scream rang out across the library, so loud, Harry thought the bookcases might topple over like a pair of literary dominoes. Colin Creevey, the third year Gryffindor, who idolized Harry with doubtless zeal, suddenly came tumbling around the far, back corners, far from where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been sitting.

His face was quivering, tears flowing out of his eyes as if they were a pair of broken dams. He could barely talk in straight, orderly sentences, and instead burst forth chaotically.

"HELP! SOMEONE! IN THE LIBRARY! ATTACKED A RAVENCLAW! HEEELLLPP!


	8. Facing the Naga

Chapter 7: Facing the Naga

Colin Creevey was already a very nervous, shaky sort of person, with his mousish skin and large, protruding ears. But as he charged through the library, shouting and yelling at the top of his lungs, Harry was affirmative that Colin was going to drop over unconscious. Thankfully, he didn't but still was raving about, arms flailing over his head as he fled away through the library exit.

"Well, I guess you got your adventure, Harry," Ron said in a dull fashion, probably skeptical that Colin had actually seen an attack. The boy was so nerve-racked; a falling pin could send him into twitches. Hermoine nodded in agreement, her bushy hair a little more frazzled than usual; the shock of hearing someone scream in the usually soundless library must have startled her dearly.

"Colin might by jumpy, but…but I can't shake this feeling off…" touching his forehead lightly, fingers tracing the lightning bolt scar, Harry stood up from his seat, feet picking up speed as he neared the restricted section of the magical athenaeum. He had been in there himself, with the help of his Invisibility Cloak, but dared not return, for the books inside howled at the reader, warning Filch of intruders, which is exactly what had happened to Harry. He could still hear the rumble of bustling in the library dying away, as if things were settling, but he still continued into the long, musty hallway.

But he heard no sounds of struggle or fighting, no attack was making itself known. Even the lock to the prohibited quarters hadn't been messed with; it was securely in place, no signs of magic being done. Even so, Harry felt a twinge in his mind; he closed his eyes, concentrated, trying to feel the air about him. Lights were flashing beneath his eyelids, like a myriad of dancing rainbows, and they flashed open once Harry heard a whistling sound, faint at first, but soon screeching, and heading right for him.

He lunged to his right, thrusting himself into an isle of books, just as a large, feathered spear dashed by, plunging into the wall Harry had just been standing in front of. Thinking of calling his friends to help, Harry then thought the better of it, knowing that he couldn't bear to place them into any danger; escape was the only smart solution. Getting to his feet, ears still pricked up, senses heightening with each passing moment, Harry slowly peered out from behind the bookcase, looking down the long corridor, into the airy stillness that was about him.

A spasm went of in his mind like an alarm, a buzzing sensation wheeling him backwards as another projectile came spinning past him, almost cleaving his lips off of his face. A small trickle of blood starting to form on his cheek; it had been a close one, his foe must have deadly aim, even in the dark.

_I've got to get away…I've got to get away…_Harry repeated to himself, chest heaving with horror, as several other spears and arrows flew by him like deadly rain, until a solid wall of weaponry had stuck itself into the walls around him.

_I can't let them kill me…I don't want to die! _

He then heard something other then the sound of trilling lances or harpoons; it was most different. Indeed, it did start very quietly, something rasping against the floor, something scaled, Harry thought. A stream of light broke out before him, dancing on the floor like flaming ribbons, and his feet instinctively began to move away from it. Harry felt something prod into his back, something sharp.

"_Ahh_…." A low, growling voice snarled out, something warm blowing into his air. It made his stomach drop out from beneath him, and Harry was soon beside himself with dread.

"_The young scarred one…_"

A smell worse then rotting flesh began to permeate around him, the knot in his stomach growing like a snowball as the hot sensation of flowing blood began to slip down his neck, the wound on his face still glistening crimson red. A sharp prick was administered into his backside and he jutted forward; whatever was in back of him wanted him back out into the dark corridor.

"W-What do you want…" Harry soon was speaking again, whether it was foolish courage or pure stupidity, he couldn't decide.

"_Just hold your tongue and walk forward…_" the voice hissed ferociously, and the stabbing pain increased; Harry realized if he didn't comply, whatever creature that was behind him was going to run him clear through. Gulping, his throat becoming dry and hoarse, Harry stiffly trudged forth, his head pounding, heart rapping against his ribs, and hands sweaty.

Little light shone in the passageway, flanked by books from all directions, and when Harry was back where he had started, the atmosphere was even more hopeless, morbid, the pungency more pathetically rank then ever. He raised his hands as if surrendering, knowing that he was unarmed, his wand tucked safely in his school bags, where it was of no use to him.

The sinuous sound Harry had noticed before was growing steadfastly, like a monstrous cheese grate being rubbed up against a rock. Beads of sweat were now mixing with the blood staining his cheek, eyes filling with tears of fright, and Harry finally saw forms, several forms, producing in front of him, lurking out of the dismal illumination.

At first Harry thought they were snakes, large and venomous, and he frankly would not have been surprised if had been, because he had been in numerous confrontations with the reptiles before. But as soon as their bodies were well lit, Harry perceived limbs, long, gangly arms, jutting out from the creatures' lanky bodies. Leg-less and propelling themselves by a scaled, gray tail, Harry saw that the beasts were all wearing nearly the same apparel: molding robes of black, a satchel hung round their slender waists, and each one armed to the teeth with javelins and daggers.

"_Bring him to me…_" one of the reptiles spoke fiercely, its lifeless eyes darting over Harry's very being, mouth gaping open, revealing numerous rows of short, pointed teeth. The demi-human was armed with no weapon, unlike its companions, but instead carried a great staff, both ends holding an eyeball like sphere. It menacingly waved it in front of Harry's face, as he was brought forward, legs protesting to work, but Harry fought off his immobility, urging himself to proceed.

"What do you want?" he said again, more austerely this time around, perhaps because he finally could see the savage beasts that had subdued him. The lead creature, slithering forward, gray scales bristling in the light (they were apparently well adapted to the dark, having aimed their weapons so precisely), brought its face closely to Harry's, and he could see its slit eyes narrowing in on his own.

"_We have come bearing a message…_" puffing tepid, stale air into Harry's face, it suddenly motioned for its army of beasts to part, revealing a collapsed figure, bearing a Hogwarts robe. Harry couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he the body move for a fleeting moment.

"_Potter…return to the people of the sea what this school has stolen from them…or more deaths shall surely come…_"

"I don't what you're talking about, thing…" Harry spoke very decisively, despite his terrible fear that the creature would tear him limb from limb with its horrible, green teeth.

"Leave that person alone…"

"_You are brave, too brave for your own good, Potter…_" raising the jewel-embedded staff, the animal's voice rose malevolently, the other creatures closing in around him. Harry could only draw up his arms in defense, waiting for the wooden weapon to beat his head in, eyes closed in vain. A flash of light suddenly blasted apart the nearest bookcase, and Harry expected that the explosion meant the beast had used some powerful magic against him.

But the next moment passed and Harry was still alive, unharmed.

"Harry!" a voice, filled with concern, shouted out his name, and he wearily tore open his eyes, confounded as he was that he wasn't dead. Looking about him, dust covering the front of his robes, he saw that the legion of half-snakes had vanished, and that several teachers were crowding the area quickly. Among them was Irenes, the one that had called out for him.

"I'm alright, I'm okay…" he said, half startled by the detonation, hands trembling as he gripped the fabric of his shirt. Dumbledore soon appeared, his eyes not twinkling, but wide with worry.

"Are you safe? Did they hurt you?" he said, voice unwavering but obviously distressed, for he soon rushed to Harry, placing his old, aged hands on Harry's shoulders, each of them weighing him down profoundly.

"I don't think…but I heard something blowup…the bookcase…" Harry paused for a breath, "What were those things?"

"The tribe of the Naga…horrible, untamed animals that are neither human or reptile, but a cruel chimera of the two…" Dumbledore said gravely, almost as if he pitied them, "We do not know how they managed to break into the school…but they are to be taken most seriously…are you sure you are unhurt?"

"I'm not the one you should be fussing over, Dumbledore! There's someone back there!" Harry said impatiently, pointing back behind him. Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw house, soon cried out and rushed him, his miniature form bobbling about like a jumping bean. As the professor levitated the fallen student onto her feet, Harry soon caught sight of the person's blue and bronze tie, and a face that would have struck him as pretty, had it not been unconscious.

"CHO!"

Harry sprang from Dumbledore's side, rushing to where Professor Flitwick was, pushing away all the pain that was filling the right side of is face, where he had been marked by the grazing spear earlier. Head resting on her shoulder, Cho Chang's figure was slowly brought towards the Headmaster, followed by Harry, who was searching for any signs of brutality, any cuts; even the slightest scrape would worry him a this point.

He had only met the girl from Ravenclaw a few years ago, and although her knew very little about her except that she was popular, Harry found her very enchanting and extremely kind to him. She was also a brave Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, something he found even more impressive. But right now, all he found to be impressive was that she was actually unscathed, save a couple rips in her robes here and there.

"Is she, I mean, is she going to be all right?" Harry stuttered intensely, green eyes brimming with apprehension that Cho had perhaps sustained internal injuries. As she was being led away to the Medical Wing, and Harry attempted to take pursuit, Dumbledore halted his way.

"Do not worry…she is in good hands I assure you…" he said with great vigilance in his voice, all-knowing eyes beaming down at Harry with a look of absolute power, a warmth filling Harry's heart.

"Although I doubt the Naga would have killed you, we are very fortunate that Professor Zelbess had been one of the teachers here…it was because of her Conflagration Spell that the Naga Disapparated so quickly.

"I must ask you though, what did the Naga Chieftain say to you, what did it warn of?"

Harry felt a taint of wariness, a low tremble in the great wizard's voice, a vibrato that Harry had only before noticed when Dumbledore had been brought to a sustained rage. But his eyes did not show anger, they were shining, eyebrows pinched upwards, and Harry felt as if he were about to break into sobbing just by looking at the professor's wrinkled, pensive face.

"He…it said t-to give back what we've taken…" Harry began, summoning up his wits to force the tears back into his eyes, "Taken from the people of the sea…"

"People of the sea…" Dumbledore repeated slowly, pondering the words with reverence and solemnity, twisting the silver hairs of his lengthy beard between the index finger and thumb of his right hand, the other patting Harry on the head, "Thank you Harry…you had better let Madam Pomfrey take a look at that cut…"

"Yes, I guess you're right…" Harry said, startled that all the tingling pain from his laceration had now ceased, a numbing sensation starting to settle in. As he was walking away, the congregation of professors beginning to mutter amongst themselves, Harry suddenly faced them again, "Where are Hermione and Ron? Are they safe?"

"Of course we are!" Hermione burst into view like a groundhog popping out of the dirt, wailing as she wrapped her arms about him, "You stupid git! What ever were you _thinking_!"

Harry felt her squeeze tightening, and her vice-like grip was only lessened once he had the added help of Ron to undo it. His friend looked flabbergasted, putting both his and Harry's school bags on the ground beside him.

"Harry! What were those things that attacked Cho? We heard that explosion! Did you do _that_?" Ron talked continuously, not pausing for a breath, as his questions rattled on, "Are you okay? How bad is that cut? Ohmigod, I thought you were done for back there!"

"Ron-RON!" Harry shouted over Ron's whining voice, shaking him by the sides of his arms, "I'm O-K!"

"Alright…if you say so…" whimpering a little, the nerves still a little shattered, Ron blew the hair out of his eyes, "But still…what did you blow up? It was wicked!"

"That wasn't me…it was Irenes…some Conflaga-watchamacalit…" Harry struggled to reproduce the title of the long-winded spell Irenes had used.

"You mean she used the Conflagration Spell?" Hermione said open-mouthed, nearly dropping the books she was clutching closely to her chest, "I've never seen that spell used before; you lucky thing, you!"

"Well…if it means anything, I had my eyes closed…" Harry shrugged, remembering the enclosing Naga, their leader's long, phosphorescent staff ready to strike him down, "And I'm not sure I wanted to see it anyway…it blew up one of the bookcases…"

"Oh really! I thought it just had repelling properties…fascinating!" already writing this down in one of her notebooks, Hermione soon was lunging into another magical lecture. "I guess it also has fighting uses as well…" she stated inquisitively, before Ron began to fume impetuously.

"I can't believe you can talk about studies right now! Harry's bleeding for God's sake!" he thundered out, blaring into Hermione's ears.

"It's okay, Ron, I'm just going up to the Medical Wing right now, anyway…" Harry said, trying to calm down his overly concerned friend. He knew his cut needed tending to, but Harry was more preoccupied about Cho's condition, if she was being cared for.

"You guys should get to class…"

"Get real, Harry, we're not leaving your side…what if those ugly things come back? We heard what Dumbledore said about them!" Ron pressed on, following Harry out of the library, which had been emptied shortly after Colin had warned them about the invading Naga. It was eerily desolate, the only sound being Dumbledore's voice and the creaking of chandeliers ahead, and Harry wanted to find himself out of the library and into the nurse's aid more then ever.

* * *

Harry had been quickly led to the Hospital tower, with the mundane assistance of Sir Nicholas, who did more complaining and wailing more then anything that could be called "help". Fretting about the castle's mediocre security, the lack of magical bastions and even of the need for better locking mechanisms for all of the rooms.

"Can't have any barbarous animals storming the castle grounds all the time…Nagas of all things too!" he griped noisily, floating in and out of the walls, pointing flagrantly towards the Nurse's ward every few sentences. To Harry's delight, they arrived rather promptly, and they bid Sir Nicholas a hasty farewell, glad to be rid of his tenacious bickering.

"He's pretty chatterish for a dead guy, 'eh?" Ron said with a sigh, ushering Harry into Madam Pomfrey's office, Harry's hand covering his gashed cheek. Before they could enter, a rather stunned and pale-faced Cho came rushing through the door.

"Cho!" Harry shouted out to her, but all she gave was a curt wave, her black hair flapping behind her as she raced away to see her fellow Ravenclaws. A little shocked by her blatant rudeness, Harry simply continued to stare after her, eyes following her movements until her body turned into a speck of dust down the hallways and finally disappeared.

"Well, wasn't that short of her!" Hermione snorted, helping Harry inside through the door, her bushy-hair standing on end with irritation. Even Harry felt a little annoyed about her unprovoked hastiness. He had saved her, hadn't he?

Inside, Madam Pomfrey was in a fit at seeing Harry inside the Medical Wing once again. He had been in here on several occasions, whether it be falling from his broom 50 feet in the air, having a foot long fang jammed into his arm, or having every single bone in the said arm re-grown like some feeble plant. Not that she didn't want to nurture Harry back to help, but the short and stout woman did dislike how he seemed to walk straight into injuries.

When Harry finally approached the sometimes-crabby nurse, she was busy tending to several needles and reorganizing rolls upon endless roles of band-aids. Just the sight of the neatly packaged syringes seemed to make his head spin with pain, and he hoped that she wouldn't be needing them today.

"Another one! And if it's not Mr. Potter, again!" she said with a little sigh, preparing her wand for another healing. Directing Harry to one of the stretchers, Madam Pomfrey quickly skipped over to her sink, fetching a couple of facial swabs.

"Now, I'm sure you know the drill by now…"

Even though he knew what to expect (a slight pang of discomfort), Harry still twinged as the nurse carefully cleaned the wound with some purple foam, and pressed his lips together as she flushed it with the pure water flowing from the tip of her wand. Harry was actually relieved once Madam Pomfrey was finished cleaning, for the healing process was very much painless; just a little touch from her wand and the cut vanished like a bad memory.

"There now…" she said, giving him a gentle slap on the back, as he left the office, "And Mr. Potter, try to stay out of trouble!"

"I'll try, but no promises!" Harry replied back, joining Ron and Hermoine out in the hallway. They had both skipped their classes to await his return, which Harry found surprising, not so much from Ron (who would have skipped class any day for something as simple as a new pimple), but because Hermione had decided to stay.

"I didn't think you both would be here; Hermione, won't you be in trouble?"

Hermione gave a sly grin.

"I really doubt it, Professor Dumbledore knew Ron and I were seeing you to the Hospital Wing and I'm sure he told Professor Sprout we'd be a little late for Herbology…" handing a school bag to Harry, Hermoine was soon rushing down the staircase behind them.

"But I really don't want to press my luck…stop dawdling, please, and let's go!"

"Couldn't we walk around for just a little bit…I'm enjoying _not_ being in class too much to end it now!" Ron disagreed, looking at Harry for backup.

"Ron…we've got the O.W.L's…" a little worried Ron might take offense from his lack of support, Harry scuffed his shoes on the ground, staring at the dusty stone floor.

"Well…wouldn't want to get my mum on my case…not so early in the year…" Ron turned his nose up a bit towards Harry, but he knew it was all in good fun.

A new voice then materialized behind them, coming from Madam Pomfrey's room.

"Poppy…I'm really sorry to bother you again…" said a quiet, almost bashful identity, and Harry immediately recognized it as Irenes'. From the indication her tone was making, she sounded a quite bit tired, or sick.

_Wait a second_ he mouthed to Ron, who tugged Hermione back up the stairs, much to the girl's chagrin. Harry pressed his fingers to his lips before she could complain, and she soon caught the drift. Standing as close to the wall as possible, without causing self-discomfort, they started to edge towards the hospice's doorway.

"Oh, its quite alright, deary," answered the voice of Madam Pomfrey, sounded more motherly then usually. A disgruntled sigh then sounded, which Harry assumed to be Irenes, in some amount of pain. All Harry could think of was Snape at the moment, and what he might have done to her. Hermoine, obviously in the same mindset at Harry, gave a quiet murmur of disgust.

"Well, I must say, you've gotten yourself in quite a tizzy…how long has this been occurring?"

_She's going to tell her…Snape's gonna get it!_ Harry thought vividly, imagining the look on Dumbledore's face when he discovered how Snape had actually attacked a Hogwarts Professor. He grinned sardonically, but the smile soon was obliterated from off his mouth when Irenes' instead gave no reply, inferring that she didn't know.

Ron turned his head towards Harry, raising an eyebrow suspiciously, licking his lips nervously, and anticipating her to answer. But the professor remained wordless, and when they heard Irenes slipping off the bed and fast approaching the porthole, giving a polite "good-bye" to Madam Pomfrey, they burst down the stairs like a trio of shooting stars.

* * *

Dinnertime seemed to be filled with much tension floating in the air, the result of the Naga tribe's attack on Cho, who although seemed to be perfectly healthy, was very quiet, even when surrounded by her entire Quidditch team. The entire faculty was present at their large, ostentatious table, but many of them appeared to be too thought-stricken to take as much as a bite of their meals. The students felt the same way as well, indeed was the case of Harry, who was now looking at his bowl of chicken soup as if it were a mirror.

"Harry, aren't you going to eat?" Hermione said, taking a sophisticated sip of her own, daintily holding the spoon loosely in her right hand,

"Don't let that whole Cho-think bother you into not eating…"

"It's not that, Hermione!" he was shouting, something even Harry himself had not been known to do, and Hermione looked away coolly,

"It's just that, I can't believe Irenes didn't reveal what Snape did to her…she had the perfect chance!"

"Well, first off, I'm just going to forget that you even yelled at me in the first place," throwing her spoon indignantly onto the table, giving off a noisy clank of metal, Hermione looked back at Harry with fiery eyes, "And second of all, I'm sure she's just being too nice…"

"But he attacked her!" Ron said, spitting out another bone that had accidentally remained in his bowl. Harry noticed that Irenes and Snape were both sitting at opposite ends of the staff table, neither of them even so much as giving a meager glance to one another. Irenes, unlike the other faculty members, was ravenously pouring soup into her mouth, much like a starved orphan would, Harry thought. It seemed very strange for her to be acting in such an outlandish fashion, he then assumed that perhaps casting magic like the Conflagration Spell must be physically taxing, at least Hermione had made it seem that way.

"I know, Ron, but it's really her business, not ours…" Hermione shot back calmly, not looking up from her broth to see Ron making all sorts of faces in her direction. When she did look up, he quickly stopped, pulling off an innocent look Harry found to be very sheer.

"Let's not start on that," putting down his cup with force he hadn't intended to use, Harry suddenly found himself to be the only one talking, as Dumbledore had risen from his throne, looking quite grave and serious. Harry felt his face turn red.

"Students and teachers…I'm sure you are all quite aware of the occurrence that took place in the library this morning," hands placed softly on the table, Dumbledore looked at both Harry and Cho, who both seemed to be prime individuals for the subject at hand.

"And I must assure you that no matter what may happen, my staff and I will be working around the clock, to ensure your protection. I will not rest until all menace and threat is removed from this institution, and that you are all as safe as I am…"

A wave of murmurs revolved about the room like a mild wildfire, and Harry knew at once that it was focused primarily around the Slytherin table. They always did seem to emanate a certain, awkward disrespect towards Dumbledore and his principles.

"Also, I must insist that during this time, that prefects and head-students keep open communications with all teachers, as to further fortify this castle's security," the wise magician spoke in a sage-like fashion, his glittering purple robes of crushed velvet increasing his almost regal appeal. The muttering soon dissipated, and eating resumed in its normal manner, but a non-discreet hint of edginess roaming the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall was nibbling like a rabbit at her salad, and even Hagrid strayed far from his ale, his bearded face rather stiff and wary.

Harry, already planning out in his head about what he was going to write Sirius, barely had time to notice that in the next instant, both Snape and Irenes had left the Hall.


	9. The Strange Whispers

Chapter 8: The Strange Whispers

For Harry, the next few days seemed to lurch by like a handicapped snail, as he sat through seemingly endless hours of doleful "History of Magic" lectures (this year, the spirit of Professor Binn's decided to focus on the exciting topic of Herbology through the ages, which, actually made Neville chip up with delight) and Professor Snape's horrible Potion classes appeared to act as torture sessions and not lessons. The unruly teacher, his face more morbid than ever, had his eye perpetually on Harry, who in turn returned the unceasing glare, usually resulting in the deduction of points from Gryffindor house. Harry's mind felt trampled with rage as Snape said, "Potter, you're doing that all wrong, why don't you follow Mr. Malfoy's superb example?" for the fourth time during Friday's class. It was hardly an understatement that Harry relished the thought of entering the weekends, escaping Snape's grim stare, peering down at him from his sallow face.

All the while, Irenes seemed to hold the most fascinating sessions, at least interesting enough to keep Harry from falling asleep in the front row, although he had Hermione's added help; she would sharply elbow him if his head started to droop even slightest bit. All of the students were slowly tapping into this inner instinct that Irenes had uncovered to them, and although Hermoine was expected to excel the most, it was surprisingly Harry and Ron that were flourishing. Already having some experience with using his raw emotions to assist him while facing the vile Naga, Harry was soon dodging small Ping-Pong balls from the behind, much in the same fashion that Irenes herself had turned off the brick Malfoy had hurled headlong at her.

Ron, too, was becoming terribly familiar with this enigmatic, invisible force that swirled and danced about all living things, as he had, on numerous occasions, leapt over patches of grass in the castle lawns, just as a half covered rabbit burrow became visible. His vast perception had also gifted him the ability to tell just when Malfoy was about to enter their vacinity, and because of this, many unfortunate encounters with the disreputable Slytherins were conveniently avoided. Hermoine proclaimed it to be blind luck.

However, mired in Harry's brain was not his engaging lessons, but the bizarre disappearing act Snape and Irenes had both carried out, at the same time during dinner last evening. Dumbledore hadn't given much care to it, but Harry knew it had not gone unnoticed, he was sure of it. Hermoine scoffed at his overly distrustful nature, but Ron seemed to be encouraging Harry asking him when they were going to set out at night with the shield of Harry's cloak.

"I mean, I'm sure we can be careful enough, Harry," he had said Friday night, during the feast, impatiently tapping his fork against the glass surface of his chalice.

Hermione, who had been conversing with Neville, probably helping him with whatever intellectual problem he was having at the moment (Neville had a very bad habit of blowing things up or forgetting something, which usually led to something exploding anyway), looked up aggravated.

"Ron, for the last time, look at her! She's perfectly happy!"

"But still…" Ron said, dodging Hermione's knife as she poked in it Irenes' direction, "Watch it with that!"

"Whatever. The point is, she doesn't need our help! She's a teacher," said Hermione, putting down her silverware once Ron had stopped contradicting her.

"Guys, shut up for a second…" Harry suddenly spoke up, speaking very fervently, leaning into the center of the table, "I'm just as suspicious of Snape as you are, Ron, but we can't go around like we have before…we can't risk getting in trouble again…this isn't really our problem, and if we get caught, there won't be anything to fall back on…"

Guessing by Ron's angry smirk, Harry wondered if his friend saw the ironic logic he was trying to explain. He himself understood it rather well; in past years, they had always gone parading around, saving the school, for the good of the school, performing heroic deeds. But this was entirely different; this was some foolish escapade. An admirable smile stretching across her face, her even sized teeth glinting, Hermoine seemed impressed by Harry's common sense.

"See, Harry agrees with me!"

"But I still can't help but think…" Harry then said, looking rather embarrassed to be still tormented by idle curiosity. Shaking her head, positively rankled by Harry's sudden change of heart, Hermione turned back to Neville's aid.

"Well, I guess we can't expect her to help out then…" said Harry dimly, sighing a little; he hadn't wanted to displease Hermione so, for her keen sense of intellect could be of great use to them if they undertook some far-fetched dare.

"Oh, forget her!" Ron whispered sharply, lost in the excitement of things, not even considering the danger they were going against. Harry, however, thought of it. He lingered on it as he ate quietly, trying to concoct some devilish scheme. He even pondered it as he said good night to Hermione in the dormitories that same night, even though she answered very quickly, obviously angered by his carelessness.

_Is this really worth it…_Harry contemplated, lying awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling that hung above him like a wooden sky. Turning onto his side, the murmurs in his head distracting him from sleep, Harry suddenly saw his journal, lying on the ground beside his bed, quill next to it.

Without a word he bent over to pick it up, moving about like a silent ocelot, careful not to fall entirely off his mushy mattress. The pages crinkled beneath his fingers as Harry flipped through the old book, searching for any other messages Sirius might have written. Finding none, he started his own, wondering just how to put his thoughts into words; there was so much he had to tell.

"Sirius-

You wouldn't believe all the things that have happened, in only a week. School is fine, boring, but fine all the same. But while Hermione, Ron, and I were in the library, a (Harry paused, staring at the paper pensively) girl from Ravenclaw named Cho was attacked by some beast called a Naga.

They told us that Dumbledore had taken something from the people of the sea, and then tried to attack me…but Dumbledore and the other teachers arrived and saved me.

I don't know if its still safe and I hate to bring you back here, but I'm afraid that those things might come back.

Not only is this going on, but also the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Irenes, I think, was hurt by Snape…we don't know for sure, but Ron and I are pretty worried about it. Don't worry, we aren't going to try anything.

That's all for now, I hope you and BuckBeak are fine, wherever you might be.

-Harry"

Harry bit his lip uncertainly; he knew very well that he planned to investigate, and the feeling of having lied to his own Godfather was now chewing at his stomach. But just as he was about to close the journal, ignore his aching guilt, the book began to vibrate like a quivering earthquake, and it all at once leapt out of Harry's hands.

"Huh!" gasping, Harry toppling out of his bed, nearly stepping on his pointed quill as it fell onto the floor. Grabbing the book, he rapidly turned to the page he had just written on, and with eyes wide, saw that the next to last line had fizzled away, the ink evaporating like water on a hot skillet.

"So that's what he meant by this thing being valuable…"

Closing the book again, Harry wondered if this meant Sirius knew he had openly fibbed, and he swallowed hard, throat a little scratchy with dread. Green eyes nearly closed, sleep creeping up on his hastily, Harry retreated to his bed, crawling back onto his pillows and sheets, shivering a little as he thought about the fearsome Naga, their yellow eyes, and what they had said…

* * *

Of all the things Harry loved about Hogwarts, being Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team had to be one of the direst things he clung to. And when Professor McGonagall announced that practices would commence in the next week, Harry couldn't help but give a little whoop of joy. He had been dying all summer long, to rejoin the rest of his team, to climb up on his Firebolt, a top of the line broomstick.

"I guess Malfoy's still a Seeker too, I heard him gloating about it all morning during Potions…didn't you hear it?" Ron growled, bag slung over his shoulder. Harry simply gave a haggard shrug. He had not slept for more then an hour, mind wearing thin with worry, wondering about their secret caper. Ron gave him a sudden punch, knocking him awake.

"You okay? You're not yourself…"

"I know, I'm just tired, I suppose," said Harry blearily, raking a hand through disheveled, undone hair. Not even the speedy smile Cho had tossed at him during lunch that day could cheer him up at this point and time.

"Do you really think Irenes will appreciate us doing this? I mean, the plan isn't foolproof…"

Harry and Ron, during their breaks, had conceived the most preposterously irrational plan, one that Ron seemed alright with, but Harry knew it had some loose stitches that could seriously endanger their strategy. The only thing, in fact, that seemed very absolute was their camouflage, which was, of course, Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which had not failed him yet, although it had once or twice fallen into the wrong hands, regrettably.

After dinner, both of them would travel back to the dorms just like any other day, with the retinue of the other Gryffindors. But instead of turning left at the first set of stairs, they would instead join the Ravenclaw's ensemble, which lead to the east wing of the second floor, directly where Irenes' classroom was. Once they passed the Ravenclaw dorms, Harry would then pull out the Cloak, and in the shadows behind the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw (one of the witches that founded Hogwarts) they would conceal themselves.

All that was left was to sneak downstairs, and slip inside Irenes' chamber, if she was even there. If she wasn't, their plan would have been an utter waste of time, and possibly get them into massive trouble with the prefects. If she were in her room, then they would just have to wait and hope that Snape would show his pale, cold face and act against her again. It was the only way to certify their hypothesis.

Harry knew they were in for it.

"Don't worry, Harry! This is the best plan I could ever think up!" Ron nudged Harry admonishingly, apparently not feeling any of the circumspect he was.

"I've thought it through a million times, and its wicked solid!"

"Yeah, until one of the prefects notices we're not there, or when we get caught by Filch or Snape in the halls, or when-…" shaking his head, one filled with doubts and insecurity, Harry was cut off from a new voice from behind him.

"Or when someone rats on you…"

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed madly, looking ready to bite of the girl's head at once. Her arms were crossed in front of her, foot pounding on the ground as Harry suddenly wondered if Hermione had been referring to herself. The three of them stopped dead in the hallway in front of Professor Sinistra's classroom, their next lesson was just down the hallway with Professor McGonagall, in Merit Level Transfiguration.

"You wouldn't!"

"No, I wouldn't…" she snapped back, and Harry suddenly saw her edging closer to both of them, "I want to come along…can't let you steal all the fun…"

"I knew you'd feel too left out…" shrugging his arm away, Ron shot her a steaming glare.

"Well, whose going to think of another plan when yours fails miserably, hmm?" she replied, eyes flashing over. Harry was in no way mad to include her into their strategy, and was actually quite glad that she was forcing her way into their group once more.

"Well…I guess you'll need to hear the game plan then, Hermione…" said Harry, moving along the hallways quicker than before, feeling a little bit more secure.

"No need to, I heard Ron babbling about it during lunch…you know, if you're going to be sneaking about, you should at least be quiet about it!" Hermione laughed a little, Ron beside himself with irritation.

"I guess then all that's left is to wait…and pray this doesn't backfire…" Harry choked back his chortling on Ron's behalf, realizing that he had indeed been rather loud about the plan.

* * *

Professor McGonagall, with her tight, tied back hair and strict, high-ridged nose displayed a sense of strict dignity, speaking very quietly but nonetheless was heard over all chatter, is she ever allowed any to be present. Her voice was always followed, and rules that were dishonored were always punished, even when her own Gryffindors executed it. Indeed, the professor had gone so far as to take away a painful amount of 150 points from her house when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had visited Hagrid at his cabin after hours, along with rewarding each of them with a wonderful detention.

During class, her stuffiness was at no exception, as she set her students to work, handing them each a large, dull rubber ball and telling them to Transfigure it into a green apple. As Harry tried to perform the transformation, he found the lesson to be harder then he had thought it to be, as many times the apple was gnarled and filled with worms. Next to him, Ron had instead made the ball warp into some sort of purple peach-looking thing, covered with little brown hairs. And of course, like all the years before, poor Neville had succeeded in making the ball blow up, sending bits of rubber flinging across the room like little, plastic torpedoes.

"I don't see why you're having so much trouble," Hermione said as she had produced her sixth perfectly round, perfectly green apple, watching Ron's disfigured fruit roll of the table. Ron scrunched his nose in displeasure, hoping that McGonagall wouldn't see his byproduct of failed transfiguration as it lolled about the stony floor noislessly.

"It's really easy if you just concentrate…"

"Well, then, I guess you're not thinking much at all about tonight then, are you, Hermione?" Ron snapped back, leaving the table for a moment to retrieve his alien-esque fruit. Hermoine ignored the refutation, nose poised high into the air as the professor rounded about the students, obviously granting her good marks for having perfectly transfigured the rubber ball. Quickly shoving the hairy, prickly travesty-of-an-apple into his robe's sleeve, Ron rushed back into his seat, hoping not to catch the watchful McGonagall's probing eyes.

"Ron, you'd better keep your mouth shut…we can't have the plan turn into a flop before we even start it!" tapping the wooden end of her wand menacingly on the mahogany workspace, Hermione flipped back some of her wavy, frazzled hair. Sighing a bit, Ron slowly lowered his weighted sleeve, the disgusting item that it was holding clunking out onto the table with a loud clatter.

A shadow soon encroached over the red-haired boy, darkening the tan tabletop so that it seemed to be painted dark umber. Head slowly rising, his eyes half-shut in animosity, Ron could instantly tell that the viper-tongued Malfoy had strode up to his workbench, just enthused to spread his love and joy to the Gryffindors. He abruptly pushed back his chair, knees nearly smacking the underside of the desk as he stood up to face the menace.

"What's that you've got shoved in your sleeve, Weasely? One of your mother's poor excuses for a meal? Or is it another rat to keep you company?" he sneered with biting coldness, his dimples pointed and drawn back, a malicious twinkle shining blue within his eyes. Goyle and Crabb were, of course, looming behind him, like moths to a flame, smug grins imprinted on their ugly, worn faces.

"You really must be bored, Malfoy, because all you seem to do is find time to bother everyone around you!" speaking rather harshly despite his small frame, Ron drew himself to full height, shoulders thrust back like a tin soldier.

"And by the way, do you have to practice looking so cheesy, or does it just come naturally for you?"

Letting the austere insult sink in like water flowing into a sponge's pores, Malfoy simply looked at the steely-faced boy in front of him, his fiery red hair draped over hateful eyes. If the Slytherin student was intimidated, even in the smallest way, Malfoy was doing a stellar job at concealing it, although Harry swore he could detect the tiniest twinge in his face as Ron huffed his breathes out.

Hermione, at this point, had become rather annoyed of such childish antics, as she started to rap her fingers one by one on the desk's surface. Harry, too, had had enough of Malfoy and his bitter comments, always picking on those he thought less of, in exactly the same manner that Snape acted.

"If you don't mind, Draco," she began coolly, eyes rolling towards the ceiling in fabulous abhorrence, bushy hair fluffing around her face, "Would you mind leaving us alone; we _are_ trying to work here!"

"Why of course…you pathetic Gryffindors need all the help you can get anyway…" Malfoy answered apathetically, smirking at the end of his sentence, a little icing to finish the cake. As he was striding away from the trio of irritated students, Malfoy was still jeering and cajoling, his compatriots murmuring in response. Harry registered a nod of agreement being exchanged between the deceitful wizards, and in the back of his mind, perhaps stirring in his gut instinct, he felt as though something terribly wrong was about to transpire.

* * *

Harry had felt a little nervous about Ron's "fool-proof" plan before, but now he was simply neurotic towards the whole idea. Not only did he had to stress about possibly being caught by any of the roaming faculty members, but now Malfoy, always a constant thorn in his side, could become a serious flaw in their game plan. The boy found himself pacing about the dormitories, hands plastered to his forehead, rubbing that omnipresent scar violently, trying to convince himself that all his high-strung thoughts were all just pish-posh, that everything was going to be played out just as they had planned it to.

But wasn't that the case in past years? When had any of their schemes actually flowed through easily, like an uninhabited stream? Never. There had always been rocks or undertows pulling them pack or hindering their progress, always some roadblock or warning sign that turned into an inevitable flaw, a steel trap waiting for a foot or leg to clamp down upon. It was only a matter of time before Harry, Hermoine, and Ron all got into a steep load of trouble, a situation in which their fledgling powers or unfailing lucky eventually denounced them, leaving them helpless like a kitten in the rain.

"Harry! You're going to give me motion sickness if you keep doing that!" squealed Ron, slapping the mattress he happened to b sitting upon, one hand falling to each side. Harry halted in place, a bit startled; he had almost forgotten that Ron was in the same room as he, that he had completely dropped the conversation they had just begun, lost in his own turbulent thoughts.

"I'm sorry…its just…well I just can't help but feel like we're doing this all for no good reason…" letting out a long, weary sigh, Harry turned towards his friend, noticed how pensive Ron's face had become all of a sudden, "Our intentions are good and all, I know that, but what if we're just walking into misfortune and disaster…we've been pressing our luck since our very first year at Hogwarts, and just because I'm Harry Potter, doesn't mean that we can get out of every tight spot every time!"

Nearly out of breath, Harry gleamed down at the ground, at his feet below him, thinking that Ron would interject, speak up and hold his ground as he had done so well earlier in Professor McGonagall's classroom. He had to admit, Ron's courage was becoming ever increasingly powerful by the day, but now it seemed he had very little to mention, as Harry couldn't only hear his friend's slow, languid breaths.

He decided to continue, couldn't bare with the permanent silence slowly building between them.

"Ron, don't you understand? If someone discovers us out…we could be expelled…" he drifted off; just thinking being kicked out of Hogwarts, which had become more of a home then Number 4, Privet Drive could ever even hope to be, made Harry's stomach churn aggressively.

"But, Harry…you said that adventure seems to find us! Isn't this what you wanted to do?" finally separating his lips to speak, Ron's voice bordered on whining, eyes squinting with agony.

"I know, I know…this is something different…this is three students looking for a reason to prowl about an old castle!" biting his nails rabidly, Harry slumped into his own four-poster bed, "There are things about this place we don't even know! What if…what if they have spies, just waiting to nab kids like us!"

Pressing his lips together, his mouth becoming white with pressure, Ron realized soon enough what Harry had been saying all along, what Hermoine had been trying to grind into his stubborn, although benign, mind. Eyes falling onto the floor just as Harry's had, legs swaying back and forth as if he were pumping himself on a swing set, Ron soon leapt off the bed suddenly.

"You're right, Harry, it is too dangerous…I hadn't seen it before, but with those Naga-freaks lurking like venomous scum, the teachers have been pretty jumpy…" dolefully admitting defeat, the boy bent over onto the floor to pick up his book bag, a smile creeping up on his face as he arose, "I wonder if Hermione's gonna go back on the plan as well…"

Relief flooding his face, retrieving his tote as well, Harry joined Ron as they both walked out of the door, laughing at how utterly foolish they had been just a petty half-hour ago. He raked a bare hand through mussed up, brown hair, the sweat that had formed earlier on his brow drying away as yet another debacle had been sidestepped at the last available moment. Before he knew it, he was walking along the hallway just two stories below that of the Grand Hall, not far from Professor Flitwick's lecture room. A foreboding chill swept through the air. Harry could sense his stomach twisting, his mind jarring a little as he turned to face Ron. Then it happened.

A loud crash sounded out from around the corner, bouncing along the marble-tiled floor, and it just so happened that the area had been completely empty of people, save, of course, Harry and Ron, who had nearly dropped all their books as another crash rang out bizarrely clear. Bits of glass and pools of liquid could be heard falling onto the floor, and Harry, in spite of himself, could not help but investigate the source of this cacophony. Followed closely by Ron, his ears and eyes fixed upon any other disturbances, he crept up the large, towering pillar that lined every hall corner, using it as a veneer himself.

"Dammit!" a voice shot out sharply, deep undertones infused with malice, and Harry had to struggle to keep himself was gasping. Without another word, he reached into his backpack and when his hand flung out, he was holding the invaluable Invisibility Cloak, the soft, slippery fabric loose in his sweaty fingers. Draping it over both their bodies, Harry had to slap his unused hand over Ron's nearly opened mouth before he could question his lightning fast action.

Ron, however, soon got the picture and he slowly nodded his head; Harry pulled his hand away, as the both of them crouched closer to the cold, smooth ground.

"Doltish fool…giving me a haphazard cart…" the sneering voice called out again, this time with more restraint, and Harry had to strain to hear the obviously perturbed person. A clacking of shoes soon began to ring out quietly, and a tall figure cloaked in black soon whipped around the corner, a head peering about the very same column Harry was hiding behind. His pulse quickened, he hoped it wasn't audible, and he could feel moisture beginning to build up in his armpits.

_Is it Snape? _Mouthed Ron sporadically, his face tense and pallor with fright, and all Harry could do was nod in return, pray that the agitated man wouldn't walk out any further, tread on their toes or fingers. He held his breath, and when his lungs craved for more air, slowly exhaled with as much control his quivering form could muster, for Harry was on the borderline of remaining calm and becoming a trembling mass of robes and cloak.

And when Snape drew his face back towards the empty corridor, Harry silently heaved a breathy sigh, his mind palpitating with dread and uneasiness, while his heart strained to decrease its beating fury to a slow timbre. He heard the methodical humdrum of leather sole against stone tiles, the flapping of Snape's long, ominous, almost sinister, robes whipping in the air as he trudged away from the two boys, shrouded underneath the enigmatic veneer of magic. Soon all they could detect was the sounds of birds outside.

"Let's go…" Ron whispered, a shiver traveling down his spine; he was still obviously spooked by the entire ordeal. As he tried to escape from the Cloak's protection, Harry tugged back at his arm.

"Ron…he's trying to hide something…did you see the look on his face…" Harry divulged; infallible, inescapable urge to reveal the hidden truth was strung tightly around his heart and soul. With a quick smile and thumbs up, Ron soon took Harry's lead, creeping from their ambuscade, slinking down the long, musty colonnade, the portraits lining the walls moving ever so secretly in the dark, a low candle light barely illuminating them.

They had rarely traversed this place in the castle, it was mostly used by the 7th years, those who often visited the higher level classes and lectures, and although it was not restricted to Harry and the other 5th years, he still couldn't shake off this certain sensation of peculiar disarray. Ron, too, felt the same, for he was wide-eyed like a mouse being preyed upon, his movements furtive and yet incessantly jerky. They almost collided a few times, both encompassed with painstaking fear; hadn't they already decided not to persist onto any quest or exploits tonight? And what of Hermione…wasn't she to accompany them?

_I can't get her involved…if she got in trouble…_Harry thought, hands quaking with clashing commands, rubbing them together in an effort to mollify his anxiety.

In the dreary, churlish hallways of the castle, especially when it was being masked by night fall, everything appeared to be a dungeon, all the spider webs seeming to be more thickly spun, the usually friendly paintings that lined the wall now glared and stared with much resentment. And sooner than he wished, Harry wondered how comfortable his bed would be right now, safe under its warm covers, his head resting on a down-filled pillow. Oh, how he longed for sanctuary now!

Gulping, regret drowning his mind, the boy with circular glasses, the rims by now sliding off his face, pushed along by rivulets of sweat, stalked along underneath his only safe-guard, his best friend beside him. He thanked God that Ron was at least with him, muttering a soft prayer beneath his tepid breath. Harry soon considered turning around…better to be a coward than a boisterous fool that can do no good but to fall into trouble. But then, just when he was about to pivot around quietly, urge Ron to fall back, did a small voice emerge out of the inky, black darkness, like a spot of paint garnishing a white canvas, so little a smudge, but still so easily noticeable.

"I told you not to come back…not even if you need _this_…" a low growl emitted icily and heartless, and Harry promptly identified the speaker to be none other (and with little surprise, actually) than Snape. But who was he addressing…Harry loomed closer to the voices, so hushed now…as if they didn't want to be noticed…

"This isn't your private little lab, Professor…nor do you have any control over what I shall do…" mellow tones whispering through the open doorway located at the anterior end of the corridor, Harry could sense Ron's eyes piercing through him with curiosity, and he too gave a concise gulp of air.

"I lament to admit, however, that I do need your help…"

"Pah!" Snape's harsh words bit back with mighty vigor, "Crawling back I see…even after how childishly you acted towards me before! Its good that you're finally realizing your place in this institution, Professor Zelbess…"

_That weasel…_Harry leered, eyes burning with anger…how could he act with such zealous cruelty, someone so caring and tender towards all those around her!

I swear if he touches her… 

His shoulders were shaking, mouth dry, and when Ron placed a placating hand on Harry's forearm, the furious boy nearly yelped out, emotions running high. But he held himself in one place, restricted himself to a miniscule gasp, and then allayed himself once more. He listened again.

"Never mind…I see you really don't have any concern for no one but yourself and your horrible students!" compassionless for the first time, Harry couldn't help but grin as Irenes finally raised her voice, now filling with a twinge of rancor. Moving closer to the gloomy doorway, careful not to disturb his surroundings, the two Gryffindors chanced a better view of the scene playing out.

"I barely even know you, and yet it seems you don't even want to try…"

"Why would I want to associate myself with you…" said Snape with bitter hostility, "Is it because of what happened earlier?"

The matter in which Snape spoke these last few words was an utter conundrum to Harry, whose observance was at such a peak just now, he felt that every pin drop or cricket chirp could never go unnoticed. His ears were throbbing and red with effort, and his eyes, although coated by the Invisibility Cloak, were keenly attuned to this dusky section of the school.

But even with his head a whirl and mind wrapped like a spool of thread, Harry could have sworn, beyond all doubt, that Snape's voice had softened just then, like a blade being worn down to its barest fold of Spanish steel. Shaking his head, wondering if this was just a trick of the mind, his tiredness playing on his enlightened interest, he stole a quick glance at Ron, still and unmoving behind him, and saw that the same look of disbelief was exotically painted on his freckled face as well, with a little more dash of confusion, however.

"Believe me…that…that…can't change anything…" said Irenes, voice turning estranged, fear underlying her cool exterior. But Snape soon cut her off quickly.

"Of course it doesn't," the man soon reverted into his coldhearted psyche, venomous words wrathful to the core, "I hope you'll excuse me…"

A long period of silence soon overruled the atmosphere, as Harry and Ron exchanged worry-stricken glimpses, eyes rounding out like tea saucers. It would be idiotic to run the risk of catching a closer vantage, better to remain safe, adjacent to the large, oaken doorway.

Chills began to ripple across the back of Harry's exposed neck, the hairs standing up like a porcupine's quills when the animal was being charged or attacked. He didn't like the feeling, it was too threatening, as if Fate was promising them a hideous disaster. Shuddering for a terse moment, trying to push the disconcertion aside, Harry felt a warm hand pressing his body closer onto the stone-lined partition, his back grinding against the wall harshly, and he saw that it was Ron's hand, his face the epitome of despair. Mouth agape, eyebrows taut, the tall, gangly boy with flaming hair had lost his courage in the face of Draco Malfoy and had now donned the guise of a field mouse underneath an owl's sharp talons. Harry too become quite breathless as Snape suddenly came swooping out of the room, face flustered, mouth tightly shut. The boy could sense every muscle in his body begin to coil up like a slinky, or a wet rag being violently wrung-dry. Another moment and Snape would disappear like an appalling nightmare.

And then the moment grew into a second, as the man stalked down the hallway in quite a mad rush; Irenes hadn't left the room, and Harry finally began to unwind himself, shoulders slacking. Minutes passed, and Ron, tired of being mired onto the cold, slippery floor, rose to his feet, helping Harry to his own, although his legs were still a little numb; they had been sitting for what seemed like a century. Knees wobbling and lethargic, the two wizards-to-be edged closer to the closed door, and found that it wasn't completely shut, for a sliver of light was shining through a small crack in the portal way.

Wedging his index finger into the gap, Harry, bit by bit, widened the cavity, as more and more light began to spill across the floor. Harry thought he heard the sound of crying.

"Who's there?" an anxious voice cried out, and an exasperated Irenes, sitting dolefully at a chemical workbench, vials strewn about her, turned around sharply, face ghastly white. Harry was taken back by her shocked appearance, but didn't cease his advent, coming into full view, slipping the luxurious cloak off his body, his face, arms and torso materializing like ink appearing out of nowhere onto a piece of parchment.

"Harry! What on earth are you doing here!"

"W-we heard a crash…in the hallway…" he stammered, face reddening, upset that he might lose the trust of such a unique teacher, one he had never know the likes of.

A genuine smile, one Harry was very grateful to view, soon defined Irenes' face, the twinkle returning to her strange, silver eyes. He smiled as well, and Ron soon came up from behind him.

"Profess-I mean, Irenes…did something happen?" said Ron inquisitively, eyebrows raised.

"Ah! I see we have two little eavesdroppers on our hands then, don't we?" Irenes laughed, but it wasn't a chortle of irritation, but rather one of indulgence, "I'd rather not have you worry about it, Ron. And you as well, Harry.

"But I suggest and urge you two to stay clear of Professor Snape…at least well his vexation is so astronomically high…I swear that man is so very curious…"

"Yes, ma'am," Ron said, a little more quietly, always on his guard when Snape's name was mention; he had the most horrible habit of coming in when you least wanted him to, especially when you were slandering his surname.

A growing culmination of sound began to arise like the oncoming of a stampede, a low rumbling at first. And then Harry soon realized that dinner couldn't be far off; how time had flown today!

"I must say, I am famished…how about we go eat a bit?" Irenes declared, rubbing her stomach, slender and draped in white robes. Her hair was still shining in the minimal glow of the room, a thick scent clouding the air Harry was breathing, and he suddenly noticed, as the teacher was ushering them into the hallway outside, how many phials and lab bottles were lining the room, many of which he bet even Hermoine had never seen or heard of.

He actually would have liked to unearth some more feasible information. Forcing himself not to question the jar's contents, or the discussion he had heard, Harry allowed himself to be pressed away from the mysterious room, and the happenings within it.


	10. Hagrid's Gift

Chapter 9: Hagrid's Gift

The cold draft and morning chill that fall had promised seemed to have been overlooked by Harry, absorbed not only by his immense quantities of homework, but also in evading Snape. Ever since their unplanned escapade in the Charms hallway, he had been subject to fierce grilling interrogation; he couldn't shake the cursed man off of his trial. Harry wondered if their conversation alone with Irenes hadn't been as secret as they wished it to be, that Snape had stolen a few words for himself. It sure seemed that way, as he continued to harp at both Ron and Harry, rudely emerging into the hallways in front of them as they walked to their classes, his leering, and black eyes bright with genuine bitterness.

Perhaps it was the massive amount of snowfall that one fine, crisp December morning that finally triggered Harry's attention, drew him to the fact that his 5th year in school was nearly half way complete, and unfortunately, that the O.W.L's were just one step closer to arriving. "You've really got to start studying…I'd hope you'd already made your note cards" Hermoine would ramble on about their improper educational habits, reminding them over and over again about how they would surely receive the poorest marks a wizard could if they didn't shape up. Harry knew this well enough; he didn't need Hermoine rattling on like a baby sitter. But he also knew that she only meant well, and therefore underwent her continual tutelage.

But even so, just the site of large, waffle-like flakes, falling like stars from heaven onto the castle grounds that made Harry's heart leap with excitement. He relished being away from home most during the Christmas season, when he could really compare just how inferior like with the Dursley's was, and just how much he cherished being a Hogwart's student. Moreover, Harry would never forget how he received his Invisibility Cloak during his first Christmas here. It was surely a moment to remember, as it led to many fond, fertile memories; one of them had been just this year, in fact.

"Harry, do you really think its okay staying here alone?" Ron protested defiantly, stuffing a loose sock into his rag-tag suitcase, the corner tips battered and the nametag worn. Many different emblems were posted on the outer covering, and they were all enchanted to show several shots of the members of his favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons.

"I mean, its not like you've anything to worry about…'cept for 'ol Snape, that is."

"Don't worry, Ron…s'not like the whole castle's going to be empty; I'll have Hedwig, and most of the teachers, and of course, Dumbledore will be staying this Christmas!" said Harry, helping Ron pack his things. Since the Dursley's refused to have him return during the holiday breaks, and Harry really couldn't complain much, his only choice was to either remain at Hogwarts, or live with the Weasley's.

On any other day, perhaps Harry would have chosen the latter option, for he did love Ron's family and their home, and had been yearning to smell the sweat scent of baked goods since summer respite. But he knew, he felt he had to remain in school…it was a secret demand lodged in his mind, and Harry, despite all his pondering, couldn't figure why. On many occasions, he speculated that it was because of his desire for excitement in the wondrous palace, but what escapades were in store for him? What quest was he planning on charting?

_Am I just biding my time before Voldemort appears?_ Harry had asked himself just the other night, alone in his bed, safe the softly hooting Hedwig, faithful to the last ounce of feather and beak. It was true, however. Voldemort had returned from the dead, his resurrection fortified by his union of fearful Death Eaters, an order of the Dark side. Since last year's tournament, Harry could only dream of how many followers had flocked to their master's side, begging for requiem, kissing the hems of his blood stained cloak.

"And anyway, it might do me some good to study a bit more, don't you suppose? It might even keep Hermoine off my tail!" he said with a chortle, and saw that Ron still wasn't pleased with his decision.

"Harry, I want you to promise me…please tell me if you run into trouble; said so yourself that it'll come looking for you…" voice a little too wary for Harry's liking, Ron stood with his eyes affixed to his scar, that one, powerful symbol of the boy's mysterious background. Harry didn't like the way he was gawking at him, not in the way he had the first time they had crossed paths, but with so much more care, and dread.

"I'll send an owl…" Harry stopped to break the burning gaze between their eyes, then looked back again, ears pounding, "…I promise."

He was short on words, being confronted by his best friend like this, trapped between idle frustration and a stubborn for the unknown. Knowing that he had to say, Harry gave an extra nod for comfort, picking up his books.

"I promise you'll be the first to know, Ron," said Harry, his disheveled black hair drifting as Hedwig flew onto his shoulder. Her talons barely penetrated the fabric of his robes, but he winced, half surprised that the snowy owl had suddenly flown up to him. It wasn't until she affectionately nipped his cheek that Harry noticed that she had a small scrap of parchment tied quite carefully onto her left leg. The letters looked as if they had been written rather hastily, scrawled all over the page in loose, languid handwriting.

"It's from Hagrid," Harry prophesized, and Ron soon was peering over his shoulder, his suitcase left unlatched on his bed, "He say's "Please come to the hut-Hagrid"…not much to go on, I wonder what he needs."

"Fred and George are probably already in the Great Hall…I suppose I should go to…" Ron trailed off aimlessly, probably because he wanted to visit the colossal Hagrid before leaving Hogwarts, "I'll make sure to send you your present, and my mum will send you some sweets too!"

Relieved that Ron's heart was lifting a little, Harry gave a grin of delight; he could almost taste the rich, sugary chocolate and taffy on his tongue. Helping Ron pack the rest of his clothes and books (all the teachers assigned homework over the breaks, especially McGonagall and Snape), shoving the brief memo into his pocket, Harry was soon standing in the Great Hall himself, next to the Weasley's.

Ginny was looking especially spirited and flushed, dressed in her winter robes, a small beret sitting atop flaming red hair. Cheeks aglow with her interest in Harry, the young girl had apparently lost the ability to speak as both Ron and he came trudging into the large, overtly vacant room.

"Oh, hallo there Ginny," Harry said congenially, trying his best not to set the girl on fire with embarrassment, "Excited about Christmas?"

"U-um…yea..." the girl managed to squeak out just barely, before her two twin brothers picked up the rest for her.

"What she's trying to say is that she really can't wait to go home and ogle over her "Harry Potter photo collection" aalll day…" Fred gibed, a large grin spread across his lively face.

"…And then dream of you aalll night long!" George then finished, stamping his foot and his double began to slap his knee, the both of them bursting out with laughter.

"Shut up, both of you!" face ruby to match her hair's color, Ginny pushed Fred and George into one of the tables, and they tripped onto the floor, only causing them to engage in more guffawing, legs kicking up into the air. Harry didn't know what to say, or whether or not to laugh along with Ron and his brothers. It wasn't that he didn't like Ginny, she was a very nice girl, but he just couldn't push away his hopes to become better acquainted with the dazzling Cho Chang, although he hadn't had much luck. They hadn't met in the hallways since the Naga had attacked, and since she was older than he, it wasn't like they shared any classes.

"Don't worry, Ginny, I know they're only joking," sighed Harry, he couldn't help but distinguish a certain look of dismay on the girl's face as he said this. It was becoming increasingly difficult to retain a structured conversation with the ever-anxious girl, not with Cho's pretty face bathing in his mind's eye. The mental images were so engrossing, that he barely had a chance to notice the Hermione had slipped up behind him, placing a hand onto his shoulder. The gentle touch was like a bolt of lightning and he gave a quick start as if it had electrocuted him.

"Cripes!" Harry said, hair standing on end as he turned around quickly, green eyes wide with shock. Hermoine looked just as flabbergasted, skipping back a few feet.

"Hermione! I didn't see you there!"

"Well, that was apparent, you prat!" snubbing Harry's reaction, Hermione sulked in place, both hands perched on her developing hips, a rosy red tint flooding into her face, "I guess I'll skip the formalities…it's about time that we all should leave…why aren't your things packed to go to the Weasley's?"

"Because he's not coming…" Ron answered shortly, words underlined with steel, a bit of irritation rearing its ugly face. A pang of guilt shot into Harry's heart, and it took a great deal of energy to keep himself from second-guessing his decision to remain behind. He told himself over and over again…he had to stay…he had to stay…

"What!" said Hermione, obviously more than a bit perturbed, and Ginny as well wore a look of horror on her pale face, the freckles themselves waning in color, eyes loosing their shine.

"How can you stand to stay here, all by yourself? I swear, Harry Potter, if you're planning anything—"

"Don't even start…I've already had to promise Ron that I wouldn't…" Harry said with a little too much impatience riding on his tone; he promptly changed his attitude, "Look…I don't want to exclude you or Ron from anything I do…I swear to you, Hermoine…"

Harry suddenly dropped the volume of his voice to a low whisper.

"…I promise you most of all…"

He didn't quite understand what had come over him; it just seemed like the right thing to say…to do. But the inquisitive gaze the brown-haired girl was now emitting at him made him doubt that this was so. Her knees were shaking, and Harry suddenly felt very nasty indeed, like he had said far too much, and he felt his stomach crinkle in on itself, double over with fear.

When a smile finally crept up on Hermione's face, Harry felt his lungs exhale peacefully, the natural color returning to her cheeks as she gave him a quick hug, fetching her two suitcases.

"Harry…I know you'll be safe…" she said with a grin, one that, to Harry at least, seemed to drive away the darkest of hexes and the most horrible of plagues…just like Ron, he knew he could always count on the trust of his friends. Ginny, however, was in complete unease with the whole situation, fidgeting and shuffling her mary-jane shoes.

"Don't worry…he'll make sure to send you an owl for Christmas, right Harry?"

And with a nod Harry was soon standing alone, waving to the disappearing forms of Hermione and the Weasley's, standing alone save his own lonely shadow, always there even when he did not appreciate it. The huge, oaken doors of he Great Hall soon came together, and the loud echo thundered throughout the vicinity, and Harry's feeling of solitude only increased as even the figures in the hall portraits started to leave their framed abodes. Giving a rather drawn out sigh, he crossed himself silently, starting to regret his irrational and otherwise idiotic resolution; Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, and his fingers touched the crumpled note.

"That's right…Hagrid wanted to see me…" mumbling to himself, taking his time as he, too, exited the illustrious dining hall of grand proportions, although he was one of the few that would do so without carrying a box or bag.

For the first time since he first came to live with the Dursley's, Harry truly felt…alone.

* * *

A blast of frosty air stung Harry in the face the moment he had exited Hogwarts castle, and he bundled himself tighter into his cloak and scarf, chattering his teeth like a chipmunk. Before he knew what had come over him he was making a bee line across the frost coated lawn, pumping his arms furiously. His breath was visible and he could feel his nose becoming numb just as he launched himself up the wooden and stone steps up to Hagrid's hut, pounding on the door with his unfeeling fists, balled and shivering.

"Now jus' wait 'er secon'!" a gruff, low voice bellowed out, muffled by the straw thatched door, the glass panes ice-covered, the edges speckled white with crystalline water. With a mighty push, the door swung open, and there stood Hagrid, as friendly looking as ever to see Harry, his merry, black eyes twinkling like onyx pebbles, and although his ragged beard hid almost his entire face, Harry knew a broad smile lay well out of sight from underneath the mass of fur-like hair.

"Harry! I was wonderin' when ya might be comin' ta see me…come righ' in!"

Not needing the invitation to know that he was welcome inside the well heated home, Harry however returned the favor with a rushed "thanks" in between icy panting, sprinting towards the roaring fire that was crackling and spreading its warmth all across the one floor cabin.

It looked just as cheery as it had at the beginning of he year, when Ron and Hermione had been there to observe Professor Zelbess' strange sickness, and when they had first learned of her bizarre medical condition, one Harry was always on the look out for, watching closely to see if any of the symptoms happened to appear. She had since then not developed any unhealthy ailments, although Harry often wondered if this was due to her current, budding fiasco with the unruly Snape. A pang of ire surged in his brain at the mere thought that the hook-nosed teacher could attempt to harm Irenes' by any means possible; he pushed the troublesome inkling out of consideration.

"You're lookin' rather dazed, Harry, is somethin' on your mind?" said Hagrid, handing Harry a spare knit blanket of dull gray material, and Harry could then feel the half-giant's hefty palm paddling his back rather roughly. He lead him over to his redwood tree table, the surface decorated with papers Hagrid had forgotten to grade during the Christmas time splendor.

"Don' tell me your still on about Snape…again…"

"I wonder how you guessed, Hagrid, but when am I _not_ on about Snape lately…when am I _not_ on about anything that could throw me out of Hogwarts faster then you can say "expelled"?" shrugging his shoulders, Harry saw a thoughtful expression fall over the bulky man's face, his bulbous nose tinted red from the cold outside.

"I just can't figure out why I'm always the one to seek out trouble like this…why do I always seem to find myself stumbling upon some death-defying adventure…

"Except now there is _no_ adventure this time…this year doesn't seem to be planning anything exciting for me, Hagrid…shouldn't I be content to know that I'm not in any immediate danger, shouldn't I?"

The man seated across from Harry at the large center table was apparently giving his question a large amount of thought, chin folding as he pressed it against his chest, grunting a little. Fang, an enormous, but ironically gutless, dog came up beside Harry, nudging the hand that was dangling over the arm of his chair, so that Harry would pet him. He tapped the dog's wet nose, and the animal started to lick his fingers, lapping at the salty surface greedily; Harry gave a diminished laugh, still wrought over his current dilemma.

"Well, I guess all I ca' say is that sometimes you jus' got to do what your 'eart says…and not care what your mind tellsya…" Hagrid said finally after much contemplation, and as Harry let this soak into his own well of thoughts, ponder this for a few specks of time, he continued.

"I know life hasn't been all that easy for ya at Hogwarts…always havin' to worry 'bout…well…You-know-who…an' I guess Snape can getta bit creepy…an' on top of this ya got studyin' and learnin'. I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that now that is seems like things 'er finally coolin' down, and you just have to wonder…are things really coolin' down…

"Maybe that's what yer goin' through righ' now, Harry, but I can't see why you're waitin' for sommat bad hoopla to happn'!"

"Hagrid…I never knew you could say something so simple sound so…so…" Harry scrambled for the words, dancing on the tip of his tongue like jumping beans, "…right…"

"Well, isn't it?"

"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to…I guess that's why I stayed behind: to see if something would happen…like I'm expecting something to just pop up and explode in my face like a ticking time bomb…" sighing again (Harry never remembered ever sighing so much in his entire life.), he suddenly remembered just why he had been called here, as he saw Fang playing with the small, balled up piece of paper.

"Hagrid…you said you had something to tell me…I'm sorry we got so off topic…"

Face looking a little baffled, Hagrid soon realized that he as well had lost his train of thought, eyes brightening as if a candle was being lit behind each of his eyelids. His lips crinkled into an all-knowing grin, his beard contorting as well, and Harry couldn't even begin to guess what was swimming around in his friend's mind; he had a habit of surprising him with the most obscenely extraordinary artifacts and animals around.

"I'm glad ya asked, Harry…come 'ere…I wanna show ya something'" he rose from his chair steadily, Fang climbing onto his four, long legs, tromping up to his mole-coated side. Clambering up to his feet nervously, Harry's feeling of apprehension was proved indisputable as Hagrid turned around from his worktable, a large box. It was not moving or shaking in any way, but Harry still could not simply turn down the largely unavoidable odds that whatever lay in the small, dingy box was at least at one time alive.

Judging by Hagrid's advancing gesticulations, Harry presumed that he was in fact offering him the contents; he gave a small gulp, grasping it carefully, noticing with relief that their were no air holes cut out along the sides of the container. A pet or animal of some sort wouldn't have been bad, if it had been offered to Harry by anyone other then Hagrid, he thought drearily to himself, as the brutish man wouldn't forfeit the opportunity to own some snarling creature with scales and dozens of rows of razor-sharp incisors, namely a dragon or something of the like.

"Well…don' just look at it!" Harry gave a start as Hagrid chortled out loud, rushing up to his side, hands rubbing together in bouts of excitement. Gulping, a bead of sweat trailing down between his shoulder blades from beneath his sweater and robes, Harry slowly tore of the lid of the box, and found another package, rolled in several layers of tissue paper.

"I thought you might like somethin' for Christmas…somethin' extra since I know Ron 'n Hermione won' be 'ere!"

Warily plunging his hand into the mess of crinkled paper, Harry felt something quite solid inside the carton, and he carefully wrapped his fingers about it, just waiting for the instant in which a set of jaws would clamp down upon his skin. Strengthening his grip, Harry began to pull the object out of the box, holding his breath, and then let the empty container fall onto the ground with a deadened clunk, staring rather precariously at the strange relic Hagrid had deemed him worthy of.

At first it looked like a poorly constructed teapot, for it did have a gnarled handle affixed to what Harry considered to be the back of the artifact. But upon closer inspection, he suddenly realized that it was a small, green clay turtle, molded into the shape of a spouted cup. It's scales were the color of mold, with yellow splotches, as were the teeth in the animal's mouth, and instead of being smooth and shiny, the cup's "shell" was spiked and hunched. But most odd was the shape of the turtle's head, for although it appeared much like an actual terrapin's, there was a gaping orifice on top of the beast's head, which Harry deduced served as the beaker's spigot.

"Um…well…thanks for…the…uh…" Harry said stupidly, not sure what to say about the "gift", for it was unlike anything he had ever been given, even from someone as unusual as Hagrid, "…just _what_ is this thing?"

"You like it? I found that in Diagon Alley a few days ago…thought you might find it interestin' enough…" Hagrid said in proud voice, taking the mutated mug into his own, beefy hands, fondling it as if it were alive, which Harry was quite relieved that it wasn't.

"It's a Kappa…strange creatures, fascinatin' though…would like to see one fer myself! But I'm 'fraid that they've all died out…or driven to the most unpleasant spots on th' globe…

"Legend has it that they would attack ya by jumpin' out from un'erneath a bridge, and the only way ta escape was to bow…"

"Bow? What would that do?" Harry spoke with curiosity beneath fear, as he gazed as the earthenware animal's menacing fangs and sickle-like claws; it sure didn't look like something that would enjoy proper manners, and seemed more likely to shred you into pieces without due respect.

"'Though they're nasty little critters, some say that it might be foolish 'n tilt its head to, just ta tease…but then the water'll tip out of this hole…and then has to go back into ta water, it needs it to survive!" Hagrid explained with great enthusiasm, handing the Kappa-glass back to Harry, although he seemed reluctant to take it into the castle, as the eyes seemed to be glaring back at him from it's hollow sockets, beady and fierce. Nerves a bit rattled, Harry finally forced himself to smile graciously and quickly placed the cup back into its box; it was just as distasteful as a real kappa might have been.

"I 'xpect you'll be wantin' to get back to th' castle now…things ta do I suppose…" helping Harry to the door, as to not allow him to drop the box while gliding down the slippery steps, Hagrid began buttoning his coat, its ratty surface torn at several corners. As they neared the exit of his hut, Harry noticed that his friend was now fetching his large, stone ax.

"As for myself, I oughta be cuttin' down the trees for th' castle! I'm tellin' ya, Harry, it's gonna be a beaut this year! The tallest tree'll be standing right behind the faculty seats and Professor Flitwick's planning on decking all of Hogwarts…"

As Hagrid, teeming with anticipation and rambling on about decorations and festivities, walked along with Harry to the castle grounds, Fang bounding along in the white, ashen hills, Harry couldn't help that he'd been giving something very important, but he had yet to grasp why. He could still hear the repulsive turtle rolling about inside the decrepit box, and its rattling sent chills down his spine.

* * *

Harry couldn't recall a time in which the Gryffindor common rooms had ever looked so desolate and barren. Not even Nearly-Headless-Nick was to be seen patrolling the tapestry-laden room, it's lustrous walls decorated with romantic portraits, and Hedwig was most likely outside hunting for a mouse or small bird; everything was so silent. A sigh issuing from his mouth, the young boy slumped into a vacant, dusty chair covered with red crushed velvet, the cushion depressing under his weight.

_What was I thinking for God's sake…_he scorned himself, wishing with every bone in his body that he were in the Burrow with the Weasley's, laying next to the hearth, laughing with both Ron and Hermione…no…he was stuck here, forlorn without any friends even close to his age. The blustering gales of winter begin to rattle the windowpanes, snow sweeping up against the glass, threatening to burst through. Not even the elements seemed to want his company, another torrent smacked the bay window.

Reaching into the frayed and worn box once more, Harry pulled out the strange pitcher, looking at it's horrendously detailed skin; it looked slimy to the touch, but was amazingly smooth as he ran one of his pale fingers along its face. He knew that if it had been alive, the turtle would surely smell mephitic and putrid, its face filled with anger…he wondered what had come over Hagrid, what had gripped him to buy him this abhorrent _thing_, for lack of a better word?

The yellow eyes gleamed up towards him, glistening pumice and glaze twinkling. They sadly reminded Harry of the harrowing eyes of the Naga, and his heart suddenly clenched up; a vice coiled around him and squeezed tightly, his breaths becoming grated and chafed. Why was it that he could barely remember the things he wanted to; the face of his father, the voice of his mother serenading him to sleep, and yet he was able to freakishly visualize the images he detested so much? Why were those eyes, hard and cruel, haunting him like a nightmare, even now, months after the surprise ambush in the library?

He tried with all his energy to purge them out of his mind, dispose of that horrible day, that frightful prediction the leader of the snake-people had foretold…but it was to no avail, and the seam-splitting eyeballs remained in the front of his mind.

To avert his attention, Harry flew up from his spot in the soft chair, the cup falling onto the carpeted ground, lolling about stupidly as he ran up to the nearest mirror, peering earnestly into his own reflection, only to realize how afraid he looked.

"Don't let it bother you…Harry, just ignore it…" he chanted out, almost in a trance, the color drained from his face, eyes red as tears began to swell, clustering balls of water quivering off of his lashes. How ironic, to be once again faced against his own mirror-image; it was like he was almost experiencing déjà vu, and he waited for the moment in which the glass would crack and break like expanding ice.

"Where is your courage now…where is it!"

Voice deep and throaty, he could hear the jeers ringing in his ears, the laughing of Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins, ridiculing him for his unbearable weakness, a weakness he could not throw off, this eternal feeling of helplessness, being hexed by an evil from the past. The tears sprang from his face like fountains in a courtyard. His hands were shuddering now, his head buzzed. Would he ever escape this torture, just having to wait for the next time he would be destined to face Voldemort…Voldemort, the man…no…the _monster_ that had killed his own parents?

Could he ever surmount this daunting fear? Or would he eventually succumb to it like many had before him, accepted his fate and thrown himself in front of his enemy's feet, lay down his weapon and guard for the last time? Harry's head was now spinning, tossed down to the floorboards, glasses slipping over his ears, hanging by the last bend of his frames. He didn't even feel them falling from his face. Actually, all Harry could sense was an immense pain, building slowly in the middle of his forehead, all centered on his scar; he wouldn't have been surprised if it were blazing, alight with an evil power.

Squinting his effulgent, emerald eyes, a driblet of perspiration trickling along the side of his chin, Harry registered a new presence in the room, one that brought with it an eerie chill, seeming to drive out the previous air of stuffiness, mugginess. He shivered, shook his head once or twice, his jet, black bangs swishing a little despite all the sweat that was accumulating in his scalp. Taking a step back from the gloomy mirror, and its despairing simulacrum, Harry focused his senses, brandished his wand like a sword.

"Who's there?" he shouted aloud, voice quaky, something that came as quite a shock. How had he allowed himself to become so indistinct and fuzzy-headed in a time that he could be attacked once again, when he was prone and defenseless without the aid of his friends: the cunning of Hermione and Ron's unarguable bravery.

"Come out!"

Shoring up his back, Harry flicked the wand in front of him, a hum running along the holly rod infused with the power of a single, phoenix feather, coincidentally from the very same bird Dumbledore owned…and the very same bird who gave one of his pinions to the wand Voldemort wielded. Face astute, and hand unwavering, Harry readied himself.

He stood, facing the dark entryway to the common rooms, shadowed by the cavernous stone archway above it. Not knowing what to expect, gulping, a little excitement, although a bit more afraid, Harry chanced a step forward, feet sliding quietly, listening ever so carefully. He swore he could hear the sound of low, breathing…it sounded labored…whatever was there was either hurt…or struggling to move…

A scratching sound began to resonate. Harry saw a short glimpse of movement crawling along in the downcast shade, an advancing silhouette drawing nearer. Heart racing, eyes straining to stay open, he forced himself to breath slowly and calmly, although this was much easier said than accomplished, as Harry was about to faint by now.

Suddenly, the figure in the dark gave a quick start, a jagged stirring that triggered the burgeoning wizard into action, and Harry raised his wand above his head so hastily, and his palms were so clammy and damp, that is was almost tossed out of his grip.

"_Stupefy!_" the spell escaped from his lips finally, his face pale but determined, as a crackle of yellow lightning zipped out of his wand, out into the blinding obscurity, hoping that his magic would find its mark. As the enchantment ended, a short bark, or what Harry heeded to be a weakened roar, chirped out, and the sound of a small body falling onto the floor. Eyes fixed on the benumbed object laying slumped on the floor, Harry did not bring his arm to his side, but held it high, ready to cast another spell at the drop of a dime. His legs were like iron poles, stiff and awkward with this ascending panic as he strode towards the portal.

But his vision was not adjusting fast enough; he was still hindered by the ghostly nightshade around him, toiling to see what lay in front of him, and it didn't help that his glasses were still placed on the ground next to the common room mirror.

"_Lumos…_" he spoke softer then a crooning dove, and the tip of his wand sparked like a low, crimson flare, brightening the stony walls built over and around him.

The ridge of his shoe touched something small and huddled against the wall, and for a moment, all Harry could see was the long, scaled tail of some beast. Drawing his wand overhead, now struck with absolute terror, a gasp was all Harry's vocal cords could establish as he had his first well-lit view of the creature…


	11. The Bond

Chapter 10: The Bond

It was a fish.

Or at least what Harry would have called a fish, if he hadn't been currently enrolled in the Hogwart's school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But he _was_ attending the institution and therefore saw the sleeping animal in a completely different light.

The creature had a large-mouthed reptilian head, too large for the rest of its body, and therefore gave it a rather deformed appearance. Curved spurs adorned its front arms, which were fairly stunted; however, it lacked hind limbs, its body dwindling down to a tailed fin, very much like that of a carp. Alternating scales of blue and green lined the animal's torso, shimmering now as Harry's illuminated wand was overcastting it with ebullient light, and a long, wispy beard was dangling from the odd creature's chin.

Harry had the most awful suspicion that its eyes would be bright and saffron, and he raced away from the paralyzed form of the extraordinary beast to retrieve his glasses, fear rising in his throat as he was able to inspect it with clear focus.

No, it wasn't a fish…far from it, actually…

It was a _Dragon_.

Harry had never seen a more pitiful looking dragon in his life, but perhaps this was being biased, for he had only seen 4 other beast that fell into the description of being winged, scaled, _and_ fire-breathing, although Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts came pretty close. In the past, he had seen the colossal behemoths in their fullest grandeur, towering above the trees and blasting pyre at anything that jeopardized their health, or tried to take their treasure. He had been lucky during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, barely snatching away a dragon's egg from beneath its scaled underbelly without having his head cleaved off by one of its particularly wicked claws.

But this creature was in every way unlike the brutes from times before, small and unmoving, a pool of slobber spilling from its gaping maw, small teeth glinting. And it had to be the smallest looking dragon he could ever imagine, only about the size of a Newfoundland Dog. Harry could already hear Hagrid's reaction: "Aw…look at it…ain't it a cute little fellow…" he would coo out dotingly if he could get his hands on this infantile serpent, like he had done before with Norman, the Norwegian Ridgeback. It didn't even have a proper set of wings, just two little stubs on its back.

"What a pathetic looking thing…almost hate to call it a dragon…" said Harry as he finally put away his wand, analyzing the situation to be under his control; he had channeled a lot of extra energy into his "Stupefy" spell, and it had clearly overwhelmed the poor critter.

"What am I gonna do…"

Groaning a little, worried that this predicament would surely draw questionable arguments toward him, Harry rolled the creature off of its side, onto its stomach, and was sure that it smelt of sea salt mixed with kelp. Using his thumb and index fingers of his left hand to plug his nose from the foul stench, he then began to drag the animal by its scaly, notched tail, the fingers of his right hand struggling to maintain a fast grasp on the oily surface. Harry wondered how such an immobile thing could ever reach the Gryffindor towers; it had to climb nearly 5 sets of stairs to reach the hallways outside, and even then, he was sure a dragon couldn't speak the password needed to unlock the common room doorway.

"Well…Ron was right…I did get my adventure…" smirking, his mind too bent up to actually even think of contacting a teacher or resident ghost, Harry suddenly began to ponder a new dilemma: what if this thing would wake up and turned hostile? What if it wasn't the only carp-tailed lizard roaming around the castle? He knew he wasn't entirely safe until the creature was bound and restrained, and that might not even be enough. But the dragon's breaths remained slow and rhythmic, lazily snorting out a couple puffs of ashen smoke every time it exhaled deeply.

He rounded about the pair of armchairs, so that he was next to the windows, the tiny beast hauled behind him. Although the sash was drawn down, Harry could still see the glow of the sun sinking underneath the mountains, its essence waning with the coming of night.

"Well…Harry…I guess you'd better think of something brilliant…" he muttered, staring intently at the 2-legged creature that had bombarded the common rooms, "…before someone finds out…"

Knowing that the dragon simply wouldn't be safe with Hagrid (he would probably feed it so much it would grow 5 times its size overnight…he had seen it happen before), Harry was scrambling to devise a plan to be rid of his burden of mythical proportions. Could he trust Dumbledore? No, just what would he say to the man, "Sorry, but I just found a dragon in my room and I really, _really_ didn't bring it into the castle, what should I do?" All of the faculty members would probably start accusing him of lying, that he had actually captured the beast in the forests or something absurd like that, especially Snape, who would stop at nothing to get him expelled from Hogwarts.

No, he had to deal with this by himself. But before he could even begin to think the hows or the when's of his problem's answer, the clicking of soft-clothed slippers starting to chime outside the portal door. His hand flew to his Invisibility Cloak, tucked neatly within the inside pockets of his robes, and he yanked it over both himself and the slumbering dragon, the cold fabric sending chills up and down his arms as it touched his skin. The repetition of footsteps seemed so close; anxiety was clutching him once more, only minutes after his previous incident.

_This is it…I bet its Snape, just waiting to find the dragon…he must have followed it up here…_he thought desperately, wondering if he could make a break for the dormitory stair ways, where he would be safe in his room. But he couldn't leave the dragon there, and he couldn't possible carry it in his arms; it might be small, but that was only in respect to a fully matured dragon, and even then, it still must have weighed at least 150 pounds.

_God what am I going to do!_

"Harry? Harry, are you in there?" a voice rang clear, obviously worried, from outside the latched entrance, "Are you alright?"

Eyes rolling with relief, his head thumping with a fast heartbeat, Harry slowly pulled the cloak off, letting it drape on arm of sofa. He recognized the speaker once his mind had allowed itself to ease up, think straight and listen to reason again. It was Irenes.

"Are you safe!" she asked again, words becoming a bit more thin and strained, hands tapping on the portrait; the fat lady in the pink dress must have left her post at the end of the corridor. Shuffling to his weak feet, screwing up his vigor, Harry plodded to the doorway, leaning heavily against the wooden portal, and it finally yielded to his melting strength (it wasn't everyday you found a puny dragon in your room), creaking open to reveal a rather disconcerted Professor Zelbess.

"Harry! I'm so glad to see you haven't been injured!" she blurted out, taking the boy into her arms, checking every corner of his face and arms. She stretched his skin between her long, thin fingers, probably seeing if there were any burn marks or claw strikes. As Irenes was pulling his cheeks apart, Harry wrenched himself away, rubbing his chin carefully.

"Professor Zelbess, I'm O-K!" said Harry, a little frazzled from the teacher's overly precise inspection, smoothing his robes and organizing himself. Placing his wand back underneath his belt, he stared at Irenes with a look of curiosity.

"But how…how did you know I was being attacked?"

Not wanted to mention the dragon, hoping he had even the slightest chance at a saving grace, Harry strode away from the camouflaged beast, inwardly begging that its astonishing stench didn't give away its position next to the window.

"I didn't know you were around the Gryffindor towers…" raising an eyebrow, he edged towards the opposite end of the room, hands shoved into his pockets. Irenes remained steadfast, her feet planted. The cool, serene smile, however, had vanished, and she appeared rather concerned…or afraid.

"Well, I believe I have the right to roam the halls as I please, Mr. Potter…now, seriously, I hope you haven't found yourself suspicious of me as well," she said, trying her best to seclude her irritation, "Its' bad enough with Seve-I mean, Professor Snape tagging behind me all the time…That man is becoming more and more mental these days…"

"No, it's not that…" Harry said, feeling a little guilty for having accused the kind-hearted teacher so openly. Face a little clammy, hands shaking, he was now only a few feet away from Irenes.

She was staring right through him, and he was doing the same.

"Please, don't look at me that way…I feel like a criminal…" she pleaded, mouth rigid, hair tightly drawn behind her head in an elegant ponytail, that one single braid sprouting out above all the other strands, "If you must know…I was merely seeking company. It does get very lonely in this castle, what with all the students gone and many of the other teachers simply _engrossed_ in their papers and books…it's positively boring, even with all the Christmas cheer!"

"I know how you feel, Professor…" Harry sighed, head drooping a little, bands overshadowing his eyes. He felt one of Irenes' cold fingers touching his cheek, and then slid to his chin. Lifting his face, he met her eyes again, and for the first time noticed how bright they were, and yet, how strangely sad they appeared to be. The sorrowful gaze she was emitting eclipsed all other emotions, if any were present at all.

"And that is yet another thing we have in common…Harry…" words faint and melodious, the teacher kneeled onto the floor, putting both of her hands onto his shoulders, much like Hagrid had, and it held the same calming effects.

"I never knew my parents either…"

And to this Harry let out a minute gasp; it had been somewhat of a shock to hear Irenes mention his parents, Lily and James Potter, both victims to Voldemort's heartless savageness, both murdered in cold blood. Letting her grip fall down to the sides of his arms, Irenes squeezed a little, her actions tacitly telling him that he should not be so alarmed.

"Yes…I know about Voldemort, and what he did to you…" she spoke in a hushed manner, eyes searching Harry's face, and noticed that there was no twinge and the mention of the Dark Lord's given name. She had before refrained from using his little spoken of title, but only because she had been in the presence of other students, namely, Ron and Hermione.

"Sometimes I wish I was oblivious to that which went on around me…believe me, I wish I didn't even know who Voldemort was, but some things cannot be helped…

"H-how did you know about my parents?" Harry felt his arms become numb, as the rest of his body was becoming more and more weary. The memory of his mother and father was still as potent as having a rusty nail driven through his heart, and with Irenes' melancholy stare penetrating him, he couldn't help but choke a little.

"Honestly, Harry, with your reputation, did you think I wouldn't find out about them?" a reclusive smile surfacing, Irenes stood up away from Harry, never breaking the line of sight between them. She patted him on the head.

"They were good people…even if I never knew them…I only wish I could say the same for my own father and mother; I can't even picture their faces, not to even mention remember their names or title. But sometimes, Harry, we have to cope with this loneliness, and learn to bear with it, until we finally break away."

She paused for a moment, considering her next words with care, as Harry simply stood transfixed, pushing the tears back into his eyes. If the smell of the dragon hadn't been lodged in his nostrils, he might have utterly forgotten about it being in the same room as them; the very memory of it had been clouded by his conversation with Irenes. He listened on intently, ears eager to hear more.

"I'll never forget the first day I came to Hogwarts, how scared I was…I can still see the rain hitting my face…the lightning blistering across the dark clouds. But no, that wasn't what frightened me the most. No, Harry, it had to be the fact that although I wished it not to be, I was alone, without a friendly soul in the universe to look up to.

"It wasn't until I awoke in Madam Pomfrey's hospice the next day that I understood what had happened, that I had been brought out of the cold, although I was still shivering from the bitter cold. So many faces were surrounding me; I didn't recognize any of them. But out of all the people there, I must have taken special notice to Albus Dumbledore, for he was radiant above all else.

"I guess it was his eyes, or perhaps his entire visage that told me I was with good people, that I was safe. He just nodded at me, and I nodded back; we hadn't said a word, but we had said so much just by looking at one another. For the first time…I felt at home…I had broken away from the loneliness, Harry…"

It took a few moments for Irenes' anecdote to absorb into his mind, it had been so profound; for the first time in his life, and he could directly relate himself to another person. Harry smiled in spite of himself. The teacher grinned in return. It was like looking into a mirror once more, but with a much happier reflection glaring back at you. He felt as if he were talking to Lupin again, and a warm sensation, one that was reminiscent of soothing butterbeer washing down his throat into his stomach, begin to grow in his heart.

"Harry…I want you to know, that if you ever need to talk…whether it be about school, or just life…" giving another interlude, Irenes suddenly gave a quick glance over Harry's head, and the heat under his ears rose. Had she felt the dragon's presence all of a sudden? The coziness inside him started to fade at a disturbingly fast rate.

"…That I will always be happy to do so…"

"Thanks…Professor…" taking great pains to form a response, Harry tried to recapture Irenes' concentration, but found his actions too telltale, and she was suddenly eyeing him as he had once done to her.

"Is…is something wrong?"

But she did not answer him, but simply drew out her azure wand, its jeweled tip flicking as its power began to form. She steadily rounded about him, and he spun on his feet, doing a stupid sort of pirouette, as he was becoming somewhat exasperated.

"Harry…I know what tried to attack you…but it's not as dangerous as you might think it to be…" she said slowly, drawing her wand to full height, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

She had spoken the spell with such eloquence and with so much grandeur, Harry could have been 115 sure that Hermione would be applauding wildly. However, he was much to frightened to even consider that thought, as an invisible shape was lifted into the air, and hovered next to them. It clambered over the carpeted ground with a deadened sound, and giving another swish, Irenes removed the concealing Invisibility Cloak, sending it to rest on a nearby chair. The dragon was revealed to all, and thankfully for Harry, that meant only himself and Irenes. Her face had lost all its color, or what was left of it, but she actually remained bewildering tranquil and placid.

He couldn't even begin to think what her next move would be.

"Do you know what this is…well, that was a stupid question, why even bother beating around the bush…" giving her forehead a little slap, Irenes crouched next to the sleeping beast, a hand placed on its fish-like head.

"I'm sure you realize that this is indeed a dragon…but obviously not a full grown animal…I really hope it's not hurt…"

"How can you be so calm!" Harry sputtered suddenly, hands doing windmills over his head, face stricken with confusion, and terror, for the dragon's long eyelashes had begun to batter, revealing, yes indeed, yellow eyes, "And this thing is _bloody_ dangerous! It was probably trying to tear off my head!"

"Oh, don't be so silly! It wouldn't do such a thing!" mouth issuing a soft laugh, with eyes that were now twinkling with returning ebullience, Irenes beckoned Harry towards the creature.

"And anyway, it hasn't developed even rudimentary attack skills, couldn't spit flame to save its scaled hide!"

"I can't believe this…no wonder you're friends with Hagrid, you both can trust these things as if it were a common house cat…" confounded and appalled by Irenes' apparent lack of cleverness, Harry refused to even dare a meager step closer to the dragon.

"I can't believe this…"

"Harry, I know this might seem strange, and I must ask you not to tell any of the other teachers about this…" face all of a sudden becoming quite severe, the brown-haired professor had once again entrusted him with another spellbinding secret, one that would most likely have Irenes packing and out of Hogwarts n the blink of an eye.

"I'm sure you've read plenty about dragon's in Hagrid's class…but with all the stuff you heard about them being tenaciously bestial creatures, I doubt you even touched upon the fact that most of them start out like this…a Yu Lung, better know as a Carp Dragon.

"But how did it get here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that, Irenes…" Harry said with a little groan of disappointment, wondering if his professor was so enwrapped in the splendor of seeing a live dragon that she failed to notice that natural dangers lurking around now.

"Shouldn't we get it to a safer spot…perhaps outside?"

"No! It'll surely die in the cold…it's such a young dragon. It most likely came out of the sea, and found its way into the lake nearby…I'm surprised it could have actually made its way up here; they can only last about an hour out of water before they suffocate…" Irenes took a closer look at the awakening reptile, its eyes lolling about in a dumbfounded muddle.

"And yes, it is a dark arts creature…although they don't actually acquire any arcane powers until maturity."

"D-dark arts…you mean to say, that this thing, once its grown up, is…is evil?" stammering as he spoke, Harry drew back in absolute dismay, trying with all his courage not to fetch out his wand and blast the creature with another "stupefy" spell.

"I didn't say that, Harry," she answered resolutely, tending to the animal carefully, touching its forehead lightly. She didn't even seem bothered by the smell of salt water and pond scum.

"It will, as it transforms into a larger dragon, certain traits prevalent of evil creatures, and this is why many dark wizards and witches call upon them to do their dirty deeds. But the animal's themselves are not inherently bad, although many times misunderstood.

"If raised by a person with good intentions, the dragon sometimes forms a bond, one that can never be broken, not even by death…"

Silence was filling the room, and a certain air of foreboding was laying heavily on Harry's mind, as he stared down at the dragon, which was now breathing rather heavily. Its face was shimmering with life, and he backed away abruptly as the dragon sat up on its haunches.

"Harry, promise you won't tell anyone about this…please…"

"How many more secrets am I going to have to keep for you? I starting to think that every single thing you do is illegal!" Harry whispered hotly, as he pointed towards the recuperating dragon once more, "That thing can't be here, but it is! I don't want to see you get in trouble, but I don't want to get expelled! We have to do something!"

"And we will, Harry, please understand!" Irenes said, her face growing in despair, "I'm sorry that I've been making you conceal so much…"

For a moment, Harry's vision fell to the floor, away from his professor and the dragon, which by this point was slowly moving its front arms. He didn't know what kind of action to take now, what to do with his little adventure now that is was turning into a nightmare. Sighing, he realized that perhaps he was being too hard on Irenes. Knowing what it felt like to be the center of attention, Harry guessed he could understand why the Dark Arts teacher wouldn't want her secrets getting out. But hiding the truth about a dragon? Things were quickly getting out of hand.

"Okay….I promise I won't tell," he finally said, much to the woman's relief, a smile spreading across her lips. It made his heart lift to see her grin, even if he wasn't too keen about this whole situation.

"But, how did you know about the dragon, if you don't mind telling me?"

Biting her lower lip, Irenes then started to chew on her thumbnail. Harry arched an eyebrow; this was the first time he had ever seen the teacher lose her cool.

"Like I said…it must have come out of the ocean. I heard something crawling in through the dungeon's ventilation systems and had to investigate…I was prepared to subdue whatever had entered the school, but when I saw that it was this dragon, I…I simply couldn't…." she bowed her head down, her sapphire bangs framing the fair skin on her forehead.

"I knew it, clear as day, that it needed someone's help…that it wanted to be protected…."

"H-How did you…you know that?" Harry asked, "I mean I know you've studied this sort of thing, but I never knew there are those that could _speak_ to dragons!"

"I can't….I just knew…" Irenes sighed, "Anyway…I guess we had better get this thing out…"

CRASH!

A terrible noise erupted behind them, and Irenes turned about quickly, only to see that the common room's only window had been leapt through. The drapes were torn through the devastated frame, shredded by the sharp edges of broken glass.

The dragon was gone.

"On NO!" Harry shouted, quickly brandishing his wand, "_Accio Firebolt!_"

With a hair-splitting "whoosh," Harry's broomstick flew down from the boy's dormitories, a blur of finely polished wood and carefully trimmed bristles. It stopped patiently by his side, and without a second thought he mounted it, literally throwing himself out of the cracked window, nearly cutting his own hands and legs on the shards. Behind him, Irenes was calling after him, screaming words he couldn't hear, as he soared down the side of the tower.

The cold air streaked by his face at incredibly high speeds, and he felt his cheeks becoming chapped already. His robe rippled behind him as he descended like a falling star, ears tearing from the wind. Squinting them, Harry could see the dragon plummeting down fast, whipping its pathetic arms in mid-fall. Pressing himself as close as possible to the broom's body, Harry zoomed after his target, nearing it with every possible second, knowing that the ground below them was also closing in on them. It would only be another 100 feet before they would collide…the world around him was zipping by like a flash of reality…ready to fade away if he didn't succeed.

Snow stung his bare skin, his right hand fighting the forces of propulsion as he tried to reach out towards the plunging lizard. He was getting nearer, so near that the tips of his fingers just touching the dragon's scales.

Closer…his wrapped his hand around its fish-like tale…closer…he tightened his grip…

"GOTCHA!" he cried out, pulling up at the last available second, moments before he would have splattered on the snowy banks below. The head of his broom had actually graced the ground, as a small clump of snow was stuck to its end. But now Harry had a new problem, as the rescued dragon was writhing about madly.

"Hey! Stop that, stupid, or you'll get us both killed!"

Struggling to keep his broomstick straight, Harry finally was forced to land, tumbling off of it so that he could quickly control the obstreperous beast, ignoring its high pitched squeaks and cries. He put his entire weight onto the creature, holding its maw shut with both hands, fast becoming annoyed with the animal's stubborn nature.

"Listen! I need you to stop wiggling around! Do you want us both to get caught!" Harry hissed into the dragon's face, meeting it eye to eye, teeth barely parting in his irritation. Surprisingly enough, it promptly stopped its thrashing, giving up its fight to escape.

"Thank you…"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Irenes came streaking across the castle's front lawn, wand in hand. Harry could see tears streaming down from reddened eyes, and the moment she reached him, her arms were encircling him firmly.

"Are you alright?" speaking between sobs, Harry suspected that Irenes was not familiar with his flying abilities, that the situation was well within his hands, even with the circumstances of having to rescue a dragon. It was ironic; just last year he had used the exact same spell to fly away from a similar creature…

"I thought you were going to crash into the ground…I thought you were going to die…"

"Irenes…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you…" Harry said guiltily, letting himself be hugged again. It was comforting to have someone other then your classmates worry for you…someone other then the headmaster…

"But shouldn't we get the dragon back into the ocean or lake or whatever?"

Irenes didn't have a chance to reply, for standing just 15 feet away, dark clothing stark against the white snow, was Snape, once again intruding in at the worst possible moment.

"What _dragon, _pray tell, do you speak of?"

Harry gasped as he wheeled around, half-ready to clasp a hand over his open mouth.

"Professor Snape, what a pleasant surprise to see you out here, and not in that despicable dungeon of yours," Irenes bit harshly, her owlish face alight with annoyance.

Once again experiencing a sort of atmospheric mood swing, Harry felt the cold morning air stiffen, as his own heart seemed to fall into his shoes. Had Snape seen the entire broom chase? Had he seen the dragon? His stomach twisted into a double knot, and he looked at Irenes for relief, but found that she too was as nervous. Snape saw this and sneered.

"The pleasure, my dear Miss. Zelbess, is _all_ mine…" he said smoothly, "Now, would be so kind as to explain yourselves…Why is Potter with his broomstick, and what _dragon_ is he idiotically blabbering on about?"

"Actually, it's none of your concern," just as icy, Irenes placed herself in front of Harry, "And, my dear Mr. Snape, would _you_ be so kind as to explain why you're roaming about in the snow? But then again, maybe you're just connecting with your bitter personality…"

"How cute," Snape retorted, as Harry commanded his broomstick to return to his room. It reared into the air, and Snape opened his mouth to say something, but he was too late. In a matter of seconds, it had vanished back through the splintered windowpane. Irenes smiled smartly.

"Well, if you must know, I was looking for a certain herb in the gardens…it grows only in cold climates, and you should be very thankful that it does, as I do believe it has certain worth to you…"

Irenes' hair was standing on end as Snape said this, fisting her hands. They froze in place, like two statues having a staring contest, and Harry flinched in the uncomfortable silence.

"Um, excuse me, but I think I'm going inside now…" he said, moving out from behind Irenes, face flustered from the cold. Snow flakes as fat as quarters fell towards the Earth, but the two "combatants" dared not move, glaring strongly at each other. It wasn't long before all three of them had a thin blanket of snow collected on their hair. Harry started to move away.

"Ah, don't you move an _inch_, Potter!" Snape did not look at Harry, but his voice was just as potent, enough to stop him in his tracks.

"The headmaster will be informed of this…and I'll make sure to have this entire premise searched for this supposed dragon, and have it exterminated."

Irenes' mouth opened, but it froze, and she was too late to catch her own mistake from happening. Snape's mouth contorted into a horrible smile.

"So I see…there _is_ a dragon…and it seems you've a certain fondness for it…" he sneered, as he broke away from the woman's intense gaze. Harry felt the heat rising inside him.

"I'll be off to speak with Albus now…

Just then, a willowy, wizard apparated in front of the small group, his silver beard blending perfectly with the snowy weather.

"There will be no need for that, Severus…" the man spoke with a wizened tone, as he slowly moved towards Irenes, who was closest to him. Dumbledore placed a wrinkled hand on her slender shoulder, kneading the soft fabric of her robes betwixt his fingers.

"Now, I'm sure none of us are finding much pleasure in the midst of an oncoming storm…I say, shall we retreat inside…to my office?"

A chill went down Harry's spine as he followed the professors inside, feet trudging through the snow. He open and closed his right hand several times, the hand that had just saved the life of a dragon…a dragon that was going to get Irenes banned fro Hogwarts.

His nose wrinkled as a pungent odor filled his nostrils, one that seemed to be coming from his own hand. Putting it up to his face, Harry coughed as he suddenly recognized it as the fragrant smell from earlier in the school year, when Ron, Hermione and himself had went to see Hagrid, and had found Irenes with him.

But the dragon hadn't been there, it hadn't been in the gamekeeper's hut…or had it?

Harry shook the snow from his hair as he entered the castle through a side entrance, although little balls of ice were still clinging tightly to the ends. All of the hallway torches were lit and blazing like miniature bonfires, but it did nothing to cheer up the sense of dread that was coursing through him. Absentmindedly, Harry sniffed his hand again and found that the smell from before had disappeared.

Irenes did not look back at him once. Harry could only imagine what must have been on her mind, probably more then he could imagine.

They strode after Dumbledore, who was not in his usual, lighthearted mood, and they soon found themselves standing in front of his office. Dumbledore tapped the handle with his wand and the door swung open, and it remained open even after they had all filed into the spacious office.

"Harry, I must ask you to leave for a moment…I must speak with Professor Snape and Professor Zelbess alone," voice low and grave, Dumbledore sat himself into his chair, politely motioning for Harry to leave. Irenes cast a helpless glance towards Harry as he was nearing the doorway, mouth pursed and thin eyebrows drawn. He wanted to say something to ease her tensions, but the words became lodged in his throat like a clogged toilet, and he instead flashed a quick smile, closing the door behind him.

_This is your entire fault, Harry…If you had just kept your stupid mouth shut, Irenes would still have her job…_ Harry thought, as he stood outside the office, hands fisted and held to his sides. He felt like kicking himself in the head or bashing his brains on the hardwood floor. It was his thirst for adventure that had caused all this trouble, his stupidity.

Harry knew it was foolish to try and eavesdrop now; he was almost certain that the door had a charm or enchantment on it that would block out any sound that attempted to escape; it might have even bit his ear off. It was better to just leave, go back to his room. Who cared what Dumbledore had to say now…he was used to being suspected by everyone, just because he was different.

But he stayed put, green eyes shut, trying to suppress the urge to run.

The door behind him suddenly opened, and Snape was the first to appear, wearing not the smile Harry expected to see, but instead an awful frown.

"Consider yourself very, _very_, lucky, Mr. Potter…" he scowled at Harry, rushing past him, robes floating behind him like a cowl of midnight. Harry looked at the diminishing Potions Master with a look of confusion, wondering what the teacher had meant. Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope for him.

"Harry…Professor Dumbledore will speak to you now," Irenes said as she exited the office, face emotionless but not in agony or sadness, which Harry considered a good thing. He nodded his head.

"Irenes…what's going to happen to you? You're not being kicked out?" Harry said hopefully.

"Of course not, Harry…but you should hurry, its best not to keep a great man waiting!" she smiled as she too left Harry's side, walking down the nearby staircases. Then, when she had disappeared, he entered the room.

Sitting at his desk, a hand raking through his waist-length beard, Dumbledore waited patiently for Harry to approach him. When he was about five feet from the professor, Harry noticed that the teacher's phoenix, a magnificent bird by the name of Fawkes, was notably absent.

"I should let you know that Itrust you as much as I do any of my faculty, Harry," the old wizard started to speak, leaning over his desk, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.

"I know that, Professor," Harry squeaked out, surprised at how quiet his voice was. But then again, Dumbledore was a very imposing man, no matter how feeble he might appear. Harry wondered if he was reacting to the life force Dumbledore radiated, as the headmaster continued.

"Then I must ask you to trust me as well, and by doing so, tell me the truth."

Harry gulped as Dumbledore spoke to him, as if his words could shoot right through him, and if he lied to him, they would tear him apart.

"Was there a dragon or anything like it in your room, and did you have anything to do with it being there?"

Harry opened his mouth immediately, but it was a few seconds before he actually began to speak.

"Y-yes…there was a dragon…in the common rooms…" he answered quietly, shoving his hands inside of his pant's pockets.

"But I don't know how it got there…Irenes, I mean, Professor Zelbess said…"

"I know what you're about to say…because she has already told me, Harry," the kindness returning to his voice, Dumbledore rose from his chair, walking towards the young boy.

"Irenes Zelbess is a very trustworthy person, just like you are a very trustworthy person. It's a trait that no good person is without…and Severus Snape is an owner of this trait as well…"

"Professor Snape?" Harry felt like lashing out with a thousand insults towards the nasty man, "Are you sure you could trust him? I mean, do you think it's safe to have Professor Zelbess around her?"

"I believe that our Defense professor will be perfectly safe…in fact, I believe that she is _most_ safe around Professor Snape than with any other teacher," Dumbledore replied, patting Harry on the head gently.

"Although his demeanor may not be desirable to most, I hope that one day you two shall see eye to eye…there's more to him than meets the eye…he just has much on his mind…"

Dumbledore eyed Harry peculiarly.

"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but what's going to happen to the dragon?" said Harry, "You're not going to kill it are you?"

"Ah, yes…dragons are fascinating creatures, aren't they…" his voice trailing off, the headmaster's face was not easily readable, his innermost feelings concealed from Harry.

"If it can be found, I've made special arrangements for it to be sent to Romania, where it can receive the attention it needs in a colony…that is, if we can locate it. Dragons are just as, if not smarter then we wizards and witches. It could take months before it turns up."

Harry almost smiled, knowing that Irenes would be most pleased to know that the animal wouldn't be destroyed.

"Well, now that that's been settled, how about we retire in the Great Hall for some supper?" smiling from behind his soft, silver beard, Dumbledore touched Harry's shoulder, and they both faded out of view, the young, brown-haired wizard's stomach grumbling louder then a dragon's growl.


	12. Duets in the Night

Chapter 11: Duets in the Night

Quite amazingly, the rest of the Christmas break seemed to flash by faster then Harry's broomstick in a game of Quidditch. After the ordeal with the dragon and a near-miss at being expelled, there hadn't been much to report to Sirius, nothing to get all hyped-up about. It wouldn't be long before the Spring term would commence, bringing an abrupt end to the Holiday break.

He expected that students would soon be returning to Hogwarts, bringing back all the presents they had gotten over the break. Harry had left his own gifts wrapped underneath his bed, waiting for Ron and Hermione to watch him open them, and of course, another very lumpy present from Hagrid, most likely a batch of his infamously unbreakable sweets.

The dragon that had mysteriously found its way into the Gryffindor tower was still missing, leaving no trail behind it, much to Filch's chagrin; he had searched the entirety of Hogwarts at least 6 times, perusing through every secret passageway and dungeon for the elusive beast (at least the ones he knew about), only to turn up empty handed. And while Irenes was aiding in the process, along with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she was working halfheartedly. As the break drew to a close, he had finally managed to push thoughts of the dragon to the back of his mind, tired of his friends' absence and of being alone in the common rooms every day. He hadn't been able to meet with Irenes since before Christmas, but he had passed her several times in the hallway; she always gave him a warm smile that caused his heart to flutter with happiness.

One fine Saturday morning, Harry awoke to the sound of bustling and laughing in the common rooms. The air outside was still frigid enough to frost the windows beside his four-poster bed, although the sun was slowly becoming more radiant as spring approached. Ambling out of bed and grabbing his robes of red and gold, Harry then stumbled down the staircase, recognizing the voices of Seamus and Neville, obviously just returning to school. The stone walls muffled Seamus' voice, but Harry could tell by the "oohs" and "ahs" that he was bragging on about something. The fireplace was spreading warmth throughout the entire dormitory, a cheery coziness that was simply absent from Number 4, Privet Drive, or anywhere in the Muggle world, to be perfectly honest. Emerging into the common rooms, Harry saw that several Gryffindors were present, including Neville, the Weaselys and Hermione, who all turned around from whatever Seamus was showing them to greet him.

"Hewwo, Hawwy! How was your Chrifmas break?" Ron said, stuffing a large chocolate chip cookie into his mouth, a blanket of crumbs tumbling onto his sweater, "Mine was great; Fred and George finally tricked Percy into using their new Weasely Wringing Wizard's cap."

"A Weasely what?" asked Harry as he sat down in one of the comfy armchairs.

"A Wringing Wizard's cap, Harry!" the nearest Weasely twin answered for their little brother, although Harry couldn't tell which one had responded; they weren't wearing the infamous Mrs. Weasely home-knit sweaters.  
"Something we came up with not too long ago in between classes…"

"Its got a charm on it that makes it so the wearer's head is entirely engulfed by the hat…say, Fred, how long _did_ it take Percy to finally get that thing off?" said the twin that Harry assumed to be George.

"Oh…I'd say at least a good 5 minutes…or 5 hours…"

"Or 5 days!"

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the just-graduated Percy; the twin's jokes were pretty clever, but he would hate to fall victim to any of them. Just last year Dudley had eaten one of their patented Ton-Tongue Toffees, an innocent looking treat that had an Engorgement charm on it. Since then, Harry was always wary of taking anything from either Fred or George; they were constantly looking for guinea pigs to test their latest creations, and anyone (even daresay, a Professor) could fall victim to their trickery.

"I guess the holidays were okay…nothing really happened," hiding the truth for a later time, Harry faked a smile as Hermione approached him from the left, eying him peculiarly.

"I _was_ a bit surprised that I didn't see hide nor feather of Hedwig at all," she remarked coolly, "Although I'm relieved I didn't…I think this term is going to be pretty non-eventful in relation to previous years."

"Don't get too hopeful, Hermione, we've still a whole other half to go…" Harry said grimly, although he added as he soon noticed the apprehension that grew on the girl's face, "But I'm glad things are this way, too!"

"Nice one," said Ron, smirking. He then turned back to Seamus, who was holding something square-shaped in his hands. A group was huddling around it, and Harry soon found himself getting up from his seat to get a better look. Whatever he had brought back was inciting a lot of attention.  
"I never knew they published one of those recently, Seamus lemme see!"

"No way, Ron…I still have to read through the first chapter!" the sandy-haired 5th year cried, pulling his hands into the air, revealing a large, leather bound book, the front cover smooth as a weathered stone, not a scratch in sight. On the front, embossed in gold, were the words "Spirinstruments: Magic in Music." The stamped letters glinted in the fireplace's rosy glow as Seamus tried to dodge Ron's desperate attempts to snatch the book away.

"Spirinstruments? What are those?" Harry questioned Hermione, who was watching the two other boy's with irritation.

"Seriously, don't you ever read the Daily Prophet?" Hermione said, flinching as Ron accidentally toppled on top of Seamus, the leather bound text now in neither of their hands, but lying on the floor next to her feet.  
"I've already read tons about Spirinstruments...they're the latest rage nowadays!"

"But you still haven't answered my question…_what_ are they?" said Harry, picking up the book. Seamus was still trying to wrestle Ron off of him, tugging at his letter "R" sweater. Ron, his face red with exertion, was trying his hardest to pin Seamus in some slap-dash manner, though his form was rather poor.

"Spirinstruments," Hermione began to recite, a hint of pride marking her tone, "Are manifestations of our souls…they're much like a person's Patronus in that each person's spirinstrument will be different than another's. And not everyone can summon one, either, so you have to be an excellent witch or wizard to do so."

"Hermione…you sound like a computer…." Harry commented jokingly, as he took a closer look at the book's cover. The leather had a strong, oily odor to it, and the textured cover was adorned with elaborate, bullion calligraphy. There was no author below the title, but as he opened the text, his fingers running along the crisp, freshly-printed paper, he saw that the book had been written by what seemed to be an entire orchestra. Nearly 50 different names littered the first page, all signed by the actual witch or wizard, and outlined with filigree vines and ivy. Each curve and nuance in the signature's line shone like the tail of a comet, and Harry could feel his heart race with unexpected excitement. He had never had any professional training in music; Uncle Vernon would never have paid for an instrument or private lessons, and it wasn't like Dudley was intelligent enough to pick up the trumpet or tuba on his own. If the corpulent cousin had, Harry would have dashed for the chance to sneak it and try his hand on it.

"Me mum had to go through a lot to get me that…says that I should start practicing to become a Spirinstrumentalist!" finally out from underneath the red-haired Ron, Seamus tried to straighten his mussed up clothes, one of his sweater sleeves pulled up to his elbow, the collar of his undershirt unbuttoned.

"Yeah, you better start practicing…all you'll be able to conjure up is a mouth harp if you don't!" Ron huffed out, face flushed from the tussle with Seamus, and he still hadn't seen more then the book's calf-skin front. He moved over to Harry's side, eyes scanning the page of autographs.  
"Won't be long before everyone's going to want one for themselves."

"But like I said, not everyone has the ability to manifest one…to this date only about 340 witches and wizards have been successful! I doubt it if any of us could do it!" Hermione said skeptically, chin lifted slightly.  
"I've heard stories that these instruments are so much better then the Muggle variety…their music is derived from a person's heart!"

"From the heart?" Harry repeated, wondering if he would ever have a chance at attaining this magical instrument. Hadn't he done the same with the Patronus spell, and even Hermione couldn't do that. His curiosity was perked more then ever. Maybe this would be his chance to prove that he wasn't a one-trick pony who was only useful on the Quidditch field.

"Yes, and I bet Dumbledore is one of them! Everyone knows he loves music, even Muggle music starts his fancy!" the bushy-haired girl exclaimed, and Harry bet all his golden galleons that she was itching to summon up her own Spirinstrument; he could see the ambition alight in her doe eyes.  
"I wonder if they'll be offering a course on it next semester, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"But if they're so hard to conjure, then how are they going to get enough students?" Neville said worriedly, knowing that he had the smallest chance out of the whole lot to perform such an intense task; he could barely last a day without making something spontaneously combust. Before Christmas break had commenced, during a Monday Potions class, poor Neville had bungled yet another tonic, a rather simple wart-removing brew. Before someone could warn him that he had added too much Adder's tongue, the entire mixture blasted forth from his bubbling cauldron, nearly splashing Professor Snape. It hadn't been a fun day.

"Well, this book will help me…has everything about that in it, from basics to mastery techniques," said Seamus, taking the book out of Harry's hands and closing it quickly. It was obvious that he wasn't going to be sharing his present any time soon, and Harry didn't blame him; the book must have cost a fortune, as it was littered with musical photographs of several possibly legendary Spirinstrumentalists, along with hand-written text.  
"If they do offer a class, you can bet I'll be the first to sign up!"

* * *

A few hours later, one found the Gryffindor tower completely reoccupied, the familiar chatter filling up the entire area. It appeared that no one else had heard about the dragon, something the Harry was very thankful for; he didn't want 50 people breathing down his neck asking him questions, and he felt the same for Irenes.

In one of the few isolated corners of the common room, Harry was frantically opening his Christmas presents with Ron and Hermione as his audience, the three of them sitting on the warm rum beside the fireplace.

"I hope you like what I got for you…It's no book on Spirinstruments, but I still think it's pretty cool!" Ron said as Harry broke through a layer of red and green wrapping paper, tossing the bright yellow bow into a wastebasket. Beneath it was a tin box, small enough to be held in Harry's open palm, and it was unusually warm. Turning it over several times, Harry was in for a surprise when he popped the box open, as, quite shockingly, several beams of light shot out from inside. They were as intense as the sun, and he nearly dropped the present on the floor.

"What is this?" Harry gasped, pulling out a multi-faceted jewel, yellow in color, with some sort of magical dust swirling around inside of it. It looked like gold, but Harry knew better than to think this. It was something far more valuable.

"You like it, eh?" Ron grinned with pride, watching as Harry carefully held the gem between the thumb and index fingers of his right now.  
"I found that in Hogsmeade...it's called a Firefly's Ruby. Supposedly the creator placed the light of a thousand fireflies in it, and it'll glow whenever the user says the proper words. It only made all the light because it's the first time that box has been opened, kind of a warm up procedure!"

"It's wonderful, Ron!" Harry smiled, putting the jewel back into its container, as he glow slowly faded away, "Will the light ever run out?"

"It shouldn't," Hermione piped in, once again eager to show her knowledge of magical items. She continued, saying, "There's a charm placed on it that should allow the light to be everlasting, although I wouldn't use it all the time…you can't be too careful with something as valuable as that! Why don't you open my present now, Harry?"

Placing the Firefly's Ruby carefully next to him on the carpeted floor, Harry took up the young witch's present, a medium sized box covered in silver paper, a red ribbon crossing over it. He shook it gently, but heard no rattle. Hermione was always keen not to give any hints as to what she had bought, and as he glanced over, he thought he detected a trace of whimsicality in her twinkling eyes.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, and realizing that he would never be able to glean a hint at what Hermione had gotten for him, Harry began to open the gift.

He quickly pulled off the red ribbon, letting it fall beside him, and then tore through the luminescent paper. A smile kneaded into his lips, dry and chapped from the winter breezes, Harry pulled off the top of the box, and then found himself transfixed with the object inside of it.

For a moment, his breath escaped him.

Glancing over at Hermione, who returned his giddy smile, Harry reached inside the shallow box, and pulled out an average sized portrait, fingers delicately curled around the polished oak frame. His smile had faded into a look of wonderment as he let his fingers trace over the three figures in the drawing, three young wizards who in return smiled back, their Gryffindor scarves wrapped tightly around their small necks as snowflakes of all sizes fell about them.

"Hermione……did you……" Harry looked up from the picture, eyes glassing over, misty with emotion, "did you paint this?"

"I've been working on it off and on all term…….I'm sorry for the rush job, but my advanced Astronomy essay was taking up so much time and lets not _even_ get into that advanced placement Runes take-home test Professor Greenwood assigned over the bre-"

"It's brilliant, Hermione," Harry cut her off, eyes returning to the smiling faces of Ron, Hermione and himself, all bundled up and red-nosed. Ron, who had yet to see the painting, leaned over towards Harry, and he too was struck with amazement at her skills of an artist. Every strand of hair was perfectly in place, and the twinkle that shone is their eyes seemed so lifelike; the fact that the paints had been magically animated helped too.

"_You_ painted this!" he gasped, ears becoming red with surprise, eyes widening as his likeness within the portrait stuck out his tongue in order to catch a particularly large snowflake while his two friends laughed.  
"I never knew you could do this! Why didn't you tell us?"

"There was no reason to……but I thought this year I'd do something a little different, something creative……" Hermione answered, blushing with embarrassment, "It took a while to find the incantation needed to animate the paint, but I'm glad it came out all right."

"All right? Hermione, this is seriously the best painting I've ever seen……and a great present," setting the frame onto the floor in front of him, Harry gently hugged the witch, patting her on the back. He could feel her hot, flushed cheek on his shoulder.  
"Thank you so much. And you too, Ron, I couldn't have asked for better presents."

"Well, after all that ruckus about the dragon, I thought you might need something to lift your spirits," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone, much to the disapproval of both of the young boys. Harry could feel the color draining from his face, all of his Christmas cheer disappearing as Hermione looked towards Ron, puzzled.  
"What?"

"Hermione! I told you not to tell anyone! My dad'll kill me if he knows I told you about that!" sputtering in exasperation, Ron nearly fell backwards in panic.

"But Harry was here all Christmas break; he must have heard about it already, isn't that right, Harry?" Hermione retorted calmly. But as Harry hesitated to answer, her worry grew along with Ron's.  
"Haven't you?"

Harry couldn't leave them with baited breath. Plus, he _had_ promised Professor Zelbess……

"I heard Filch mention something to Dumbledore once…….but nothing else," he quickly lied, not wanted to look suspicious, while at the same time feeling a little guilty for being insincere with his best friends. It was for their own good though…..they didn't need to know, the dragon was probably long gone now.

"See, Ron? And anyway, I think we have the right to know, what with a beast like that running loose in the castle; I'm surprised no one was hurt," Hermione said, relieved that she had been right.

"Beast?" Ron quipped, taken back by Hermione's comment, "Charlie works with those animals, you know, and they're nothing compared to that ginger-haired thing you call a cat!"

"What was that?" Harry could sense Hermione's temper rising a little, and for a moment he was worried that they would have a repeat of their third year, in which she and Ron had almost lost their friendship over a huge misconception.

"All of the dragons we've seen were absolutely awful; that terrible Hungarian Horntail and even Norbert! He was only a baby but he still had the capabilities to burn down half the castle! Dragons are evil creatures at heart, Ron, and it's a blessing that Charlie's not dead by now!"

"Well, I think they're great," Ron looked away disapprovingly, and Harry hoped that the argument was about to die. Ron then added, "As long as they give my family a means for money and employment, dragons are just _fine_ by my book……."

Harry could understand Hermione's worry, but at the same time supported Ron's claim. He himself had started down the gullet of a Horntail, but the dragon that had crawled its way into the tower was nothing like that one. Remembering the incident, he soon recalled how the animal had looked into his eyes as they glided towards the ground safely, Harry atop his beloved Firebolt. Its flaxen eyes had a piercing gaze them, and a certain spark of human-like intelligence could be found in those mere seconds of eye-contact.

The creature was smarter then it had let on, with its dopey front arms and tail dragging cumbersomely along the ground.

And despite its appearance, ghastly as it may be, the dragon didn't seem dangerous, even though Irenes' herself had classified it as a "Dark-Art's" animal.

What kind of dragon had she called it?

Harry couldn't remember; she had only spoken about it for a few moments before it had tried to escape.

The sound of Ron's voice pulled Harry suddenly out of his thoughts, and he soon realized that he had blanked out for quite some time; both Ron and Hermione were looking at him with confusion.

"You alright, Harry?" the red-haired wizard asked, brow furrowed.

"It's nothing…….I guess I'm just tired, and hungry……." Harry lied again; his mind in fact was overloading with thought. The dragon, Irenes, the smell that had lingered from his hand for a few seconds before fading away like a bad dream.  
"I think I'm going to get something to eat……."

"Okay, Harry," Hermione, obviously not convinced with Harry's weak front, cocked her head to one side, "I still need to give Ron his present, and then there's an Arithmancy exam I need to study for. I hope you don't mind it if I don't join you, will you?"

"It's no problem. Ron?" Harry motioned towards his friend, who had yet to rise from the carpeted ground.

"I actually just ate not too long ago," freckles glowing with awkwardness, Ron scratched the back of head nervously, "But I'll be in here all day if you want to hang out, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll see you guys later," surprisingly not fazed by his friend's answers, Harry nonchalantly rose to his feet, gave his friends a detached smile, and then left the Common Rooms, mind still buzzing.

* * *

His brain told him to know better, but his instincts led him further down towards the second floor corridor. Hands languid and flaccid by his sides, Harry felt the strain of the holiday break wearing down on his senses. He was sure that everyone had had a relaxing time, stuffing themselves full of candy and butterbeer (a Hogsmeade specialty), but had Harry?

No, he had been busy risking Irenes' occupation while hiding and saving a dragon's hide, while at the same time getting into yet _another_ confrontation with the always disreputable Professor Snape.

Harry envied them, all the people who were "normal"……...at least on wizard's terms. All the people that didn't have to worry about a Dark Lord coming after him personally, worry about a stupid scar imprinted on his forehead. Worry about not having their parents anymore……..

"Harry, is that you?"

Nearly slamming into the person blocking the hallway, Harry nearly cursed out load, not realizing that he had been traveling at full stride. Breaths short, he brought his eyes upwards to look the person full in the face, and was surprised to find Neville Longbottom, seemingly waiting in front of Professor Sprout's office.

At once Harry regretted the things he had just thought, for Neville had lost his as well during the Dark Times, although his case was a little different. Both of Neville's parents had been submitted to one of the worst curses ever, and had lost their minds in the process. They were now empty shells who probably no longer recognized their son or his name even.

"What are you doing here, Neville?" Harry asked, feeling like he should apologize for the thoughts in his head, for the words unspoken.

"I was about to ask you the same, Harry," the round-faced boy answered. He was not nearly as chubby as he was during his first two years at Hogwart's, but Neville still had a little pudge on him that gave him a baby-doll look. It was also the perfect excuse for Malfoy to jeer at the young boy.  
"I was hoping that Professor Sprout would be in her office. I need to ask her some questions concerning my Herbology O.W.L.. What about you?"

Looking a bit dumb-faced, Harry had almost forgotten about the quintessential "Ordinary Wizarding Level" exams (O.W.L. for short) that every student took their fifth year. Hermione usually did a stellar job of reminded both Ron and him about them.

He wasn't astonished to find Neville in this particular nook of the castle, now that he knew the circumstances. While he was a bit of a dunce in almost all his subjects, Neville held a keen interest and adept skill with plants (even though this didn't help him a lick in Potions, much to his profound dismay).

"Nothing much……I was going to the Great Hall, but I guess I ended up just wandering," Harry let the words drift off, pondering Neville's question. Why had he come here? He hadn't planned on talking to any of the teachers, even Irenes.

"Really? Mind if I join you?" Neville said with pleading eyes, always hoping for the chance to reinforce a friendship, since he was so often the subject for humiliation.  
"I don't think Sprout's in right now, and she might be having lunch there as well."

"I'm actually not that hungry anymore," Harry replied. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Neville's company, but at the moment, he felt better off alone.  
"I think I might check with Professor Irenes about something."

Looking rather crestfallen, defeated almost, Neville cast his gaze downwards, clenching his lower lip loosely between his red lips. Harry sighed inwardly; he didn't want to hurt Neville's feelings, but it seemed like he had no choice.

"I'm sorry, Neville," Harry said at last, before walking towards the open door at the end of the stone-walled corridor, the one that led into Irenes' classroom and office. He didn't turn around, didn't chance another look at Neville's pitiful face. Although he was more courageous then his appearance let on, Neville still had a ways to go before he could shed his nervous façade.

Stepping into the light of the office, Harry could feel a sort of warmth wash over him the moment his feet passed the door frame, the subtle light of the candles causing shadows to play on all the room's surfaces. Several tapers of red and orange hung magically in the air, suspended by the power from Irenes' wand, hovering over her desk, where she sat overlooking some papers. As Harry approached her quietly, she slowly looked up from her work.

"Mr. Potter, it's good to see you. What brings you here?" she said softly, not standing from her desk. Closing her eyes, she then continued, smiling slightly, "And is that Mr. Longbottom with you? Could you please have him join us for a moment?"

Harry didn't need to move another inch, for no sooner had she mentioned his name did Neville's head pop into view, peaking into the classroom sheepishly.

"Y-yes Professor Zelbess?" he stammered, his whole body coming into view. He stood next to Harry, trying so hard not to seem frightened that it only made his tension all the more noticeable.

"Mr. Longbottom, I hope your experiences with our grumpy Professor Snape have not made you fearful of all the teachers!" she laughed, and almost instantly did Harry notice Neville's shoulders relax, his short breaths lengthening to a more comfortable rate. It was not just Harry's imagination; Irenes had an almost healing quality to here, a serenity that encompassed her like a spiritual halo.  
"Now, you've no reason to be so scared or nervous, I only wanted to go over our last test together. Harry, I'm sorry, but could you please excuse us for a moment. You can wait right outside the door."

"Oh, right," said Harry, and he nodded at Neville with a smile of reassurance. Irenes was nothing like Snape, and that, Harry could tell, came to a relief to the round-faced boy. Where Snape was cruel and deliberately unfair, Irenes was kind and generous, always helpful to those around her. They were like the opposing polarities of a magnet.

As he left the classroom, Harry could hear Irenes speaking to Neville in a satisfactory voice.

"Now, Mr. Longbottom, I think you're going to be just fine in this class. Just make sure that you review your mountain and aviary beasts a little more for the next exam………"

He was so happy to have a teacher like her at Hogwart's. She reminded him so much of Lupin, who he had not seen since his third year that it hurt. He had been so misunderstood, so hated by the rest of society that despite his excellent knowledge of the Dark Arts, Lupin had been forced to quit his job, forced to go back to whatever back-water job awaited him.

It had been Snape's fault, his fault entirely that Lupin wasn't here now. Harry felt the hairs of his nape rise with anger, the heat flowing into the tips of his ears.

Just another reason for Harry to hate the Potions Master.

Even if he understand Snape's reasons for loathing Lupin (somewhat), it didn't make things right. Lupin had been the best Defense teacher Harry had ever had. Sure, Irenes was great, wonderful even, but she wasn't the same……..she didn't know Harry's parents the way Lupin had. He knew it wasn't fair to compare them this way, but it couldn't be helped.

And now Snape seemed to be at it again, trying to get another teacher sacked. How many lives to he have to ruin before his heart would be at ease? How many people did Snape have to despise and hate before he was satisfied?

It didn't make any sense for Snape to detest Irenes, save the fact that he had once again been denied ownership of the title "Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor". It seemed all so petty to Harry, and he shook his head in frustration, thrusting a clenched fist against the rock walls. He leaned up against it, one foot propped up, waiting for Neville to emerge from the classroom. He didn't bother trying to listen in on their conversation. He didn't care, anyway.

Why did things have to be this way? Why couldn't he be like Hermione and Ron, or even Neville, for that matter. His life may have been affected by Voldemort, but at least he wasn't tortured day in and out about it. At least his living relatives didn't abhor him like the Dursley's did for Harry. At least people didn't poke and prod at his forehead like he was some animal in the zoo.

Before he could slam his fist another time, Harry heard Neville say a quiet "thank you" and "good bye", and soon afterwards he exited the classroom, hand grasping his test. Harry took a quick peak and saw the letter "B" written at the top of the paper in red ink.

"I passed! I never thought I'd be able to remember the different ways to distract the Kelpie or even remember what one was!" Neville said excitedly, and Harry gave him a congratulatory pat on the back before re-entering the classroom. Irenes was smiling towards him, eyes beckoning him to come closer. She was once again dressed in her white robes, the long, generous sleeves rolled up to her elbows so as not to get in the way of her writing. Amidst the candle's glow, she appeared almost ethereal, soft locks of curling brown and blue hair drenched with the mellow light.

"I'm glad and grateful that Mr. Longbottom has friend's like you, Mr. Potter; he was just telling me how you and Ms. Granger helped him study for that test, as well as how Mr. Weasely has been giving him hints on how to broaden his aura," Irenes commented when Harry reached the edge of her wooden desk, its top littered with countless essays and books. Harry inwardly laughed at the disarray; it was good to know that not all teachers were perfect and anal-retentive about everything, from how they organized their desks to how they arranged their medicine cabinets.  
"Now, I believe you wanted to speak with me?"

"Well, I don't know," answered Harry hesitantly, "I sort of just wandered up here. I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Of course now, Mr. Potter, or do you prefer Harry?" realizing that she had been using the two names interchangeably, Irenes rolled her eyes slightly, saying, "Sometimes I forget that I'm supposed to be a teacher, even though at times I still feel like a student myself."

"Really?" Harry said in disbelief. He had never thought of her as being on his level, not in the slightest. She was so knowledgeable, so talented. It was because of her that Harry had survived the encounter with the Naga.  
"Oh, and Harry is fine……school hasn't started just yet, I suppose."

"Alright, Harry," Irenes said with another warm smile, her gray eyes flickering and reflecting the candle's delicate light. For a moment Harry thought he saw someone else sitting before him, someone entirely different then Irenes.

But the vision passed as Harry shook his head gently, and he once again set his eyes upon the familiar teacher, still seated behind her desk, hands crossed on her lap.

"And yes, I do feel a bit immature and unprepared at times, especially when compared to the other teachers here. I have a long way to go before I can stand in their ranks.  
"Many of the professors at Hogwart's have been teaching for ages, Harry, and in Professor Binn's case, even longer. Theoretically, I'm not even a full-time faculty member, since I've just completed my graduate thesis and dissertation. I have to student-teach for a full school-year, and then I'm reviewed by the board of Higher Wizarding Education."

"We all think you're a great teacher, Professor Zelbess," Harry professed, "I know that they'll make you a full-time teacher……there's no reason not to, no matter what Snape says!"

"Come now, Harry. Even if you dislike him, Professor Snape is still a teacher and deserves to at least be addressed properly. He has earned that right at least, even if he does tout it about ridiculously."

"I don't know how you can still respect him like that, Professor!" Harry said, accidentally raising his voice above the normal speaking level. In the near empty room, he swore he heard an echo out in the hallway. But his irritation made it difficult to control his volume, and he struggled to speak at a whisper once more.  
"He's always been rude to anyone and everyone, but the way he treats you is absurd! How can you still treat him fairly when he's always trying to get you sacked?"

"Harry, I very much doubt that Professor Snape would ever go to such lengths…….whatever reasons to behave the way he does are his own," straightening in her chair, bringing her hands up so that they rested on the desk, Irenes eyed Harry cautiously.  
"I don't think I could ever fathom his inner workings, but frankly, it's none of my business, nor yours or anyone else's. One can only hope that whatever demon haunts him will one day make its leave."

Harry noticed something in Irenes' words that he hadn't noticed before, not when speaking of Snape. There was a certain inflection in her voice, a nuance of emotion.

Pity.

He sensed pity in Irenes, and he could see it now, in her eyes as she cast her glance away from him, gazing into one of the many candles that lay in midair around her.

Once more, he felt a course of déjà vu rising in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes reminded him of something, or perhaps someone, and he felt the answer on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

But pity for whom? Snape? It seemed highly unlikely, for although she was an uncommonly compassionate person, Harry couldn't imagine why she'd feel anything but contempt towards such a revolting person like Snape.

"I can see a world of sadness in his eyes, not hatred, just sadness," Irenes spoke in hushed tones, eyebrows drawn, using her right hand to tuck her soft hair behind her ears.  
"Sometimes I wish that he would share his secrets with the world, instead of bottling them up inside of himself. He is a tortured soul, through and through, and I doubt anyone could save him from himself."

"Professor Zelbess, you do realize who you're talking about, right? Professor Snape was a Death Eater, one of Lord Voldmo-……one of You-Know-Who's cronies!" Harry planted both hands on the top of the desk, the wood rattling underneath the pressure. But Irenes remained silent, and for once, the elegant woman, who had before appeared so self-supporting and independent, now seemed so very small, her owl-like features muted, mouth drawn tight and thin.

Her fiery personality extinguished, Irenes looked so frail now, and Harry hadn't the faintest idea why. Bringing a thin finger to her mouth, the woman began to slowly chew at the nail until there was nothing but the bare edges of her cuticle left. A small trickle of blood began to seep through.

"I know. But one cannot judge another solely on their past," not noticing that she was bleeding, Irenes spoke with closed eyes, lips barely moving.  
"I would appreciate it if you would leave now, Mr. Potter. I need to be alone."

Harry didn't know what to say. He had never witnessed such emotions from the professor before, and they seemed to have been incited by the teacher that hated her most. Why was she so ardently defending him? Ever since her arrival at Hogwart's, Harry had only seen the cruelest treatment being given to her from Snape. What reason did she have now to pity him now, to feel such sorrow?

Moving away from the desk, Irenes still not returning his eye-contact, Harry silently left the room, glancing back once more to find Irenes still sitting behind the desk, solemn and motionless.

* * *

Now more confused then ever, Harry dashed for the common rooms, bolting up to the fourth floor, barely making it past one of the moving staircases. His hunger long gone, Harry could feel his pulse in his ears, a migraine making its evident journey into his forehead. Pressing his hand against a throbbing temple, Harry was soon yards away from the Gryffindor hallway. It was late afternoon by this time, and although he should have been famished, Harry found himself to be exhausted, if anything.

He felt it.

It was faint, restrained at first, barely noticeable. But Harry had definitely felt something, like a twinge in his heart. Clutching the fabric of his sweater, he squinted in discomfort, trying to understand the unusual feeling that was spreading throughout his chest. The only thing he could compare it to was the feeling that occurred when a Dementor was around, when every happy feeling and cheerful thought was sucked from your bones, when your breath was made cold and frigid, the very life dissolving from the air. Harry would never forget that feeling, would never forget how hollow he had felt just by being close to one., being near a Dementor of Azkaban.

But this sensation was different somehow. He didn't feel lifeless. On the contrary, Harry felt almost overloaded with feeling, the strings of his heart tugged from the inside-out. Another pang was sent through his body, one that was much stronger then before, and Harry nearly tumbled over himself onto the floor, barely catching one of the many candelabrums in time to divert his fall. His mind failed to comprehend the onslaught of emotion that was coursing through his nerves, and as he clutched his chest tighter, slowly trying to gather back his strength, Harry suddenly felt the strange temptation to return to the staircases. Feeling sick to his stomach now, Harry looked back and forth through the hallway, making sure that no one noticed him in this state, wondering if he was the only person being affected by this unseen source of energy.

_Close your eyes, Harry, focus your aura……._ he thought, struggling to stay upright, still clutching the candelabra with his hand, the other still placed over his heart, which by now was beating rapidly. Closing his eyes, Harry flared his nostrils as he breathed deeply, his diaphragm pushing downward as he filled his entire chest cavity filled with air.

He emptied his mind, remembering Irenes' words, what she had instructed them to do.

Uncluttering his brain, he then concentrated deeply, searching the area for some source of magnified, condensed energy. His fingers twitched as he expanded his own aura, becoming overly sensitive to the vibrations in the air. He could sense so many emotions alive in the air: happiness, anger. But he was seeking something much stronger, much more intense and glaring.

All of a sudden his entire body spasmed, as if he were about to have a fit. Harry's eyes flashed apart, eyes dilated. Shaken by the sudden shock, Harry soon realized that the aura he was seeking was far below him, perhaps on the first floor. How he had felt it was beyond him, but Harry was soon racing away from the doorway to the common rooms, to his friends who were probably wondering where he was.

Carefully skipping down the majestic staircases, jumping 4 steps at a time, sometimes 5 or 6, Harry could still feel his insides being shaken and twisted by this incomprehensible phenomenon. The soles of his feet becoming numb, he was relieved and winded when he finally touched base on the first floor, not bothering to catch his breath, lead forward by nothing but the rawest of his instincts, plus his fervent curiosity. Limbs tingling, on the verge of becoming numb, Harry could feel himself getting closer, the shooting pains in his heart increasing. But he refused to pay them heed, pushing himself forwards, now matter how severe the pangs became, no matter how hard his heart was being wrenched.

As he honed in on the source of his hurt, Harry began to perceive something else floating in the air, a sound……..many sounds.

Quiet at first, just like the pains had been at first, but increasing in intensity as Harry walked closer and closer to what he had always thought to be a storage closet tucked away behind one of the castle's many statues. He had never paid particular attention to it before, and probably would never have, if it had not been for the immense energy emanating from it now.

Forcing himself to ignore the stabbing aches that were seemingly imaginary, Harry drew himself up, examining the door closely, pressing a single ear against the birch entrance-way. A mat of sweat was beginning to form underneath his hair, and although it was annoying, Harry made no noise or movements, careful not to disturb whoever was inside the room.

It sounded like an instrument, two of them, but Harry wasn't sure, for the sound he registered was like nothing he had ever heard before. It was soulful, deep and passionate, rattling the bones in his body. Harry could feel the ache inside of him subdue, as if it had been satisfied for having found the source of its pain. For this he was grateful, because it allowed him to concentrate on the activities beyond the door.

They seemed to be stringed instruments, and one was definitely lower in pitch then the other. The lines of music intertwined and commingled so effortlessly, like the branches on a tree, or the tributaries of a river. Harmonies like that of the heavens flowed forth from the room, rich and sorrowful, each note full of feeling. It was more then music. But Harry failed to find the right words to describe it.

At times the higher voice dominated over the other, soaring like a mourning bird, the notes unforced and graceful, each one sliding into the next with such immaculate precision. And then the lower voice would enter once more, somber tones overriding the other instrument, as if they were fighting a battle to see who was more grief-stricken.

But nothing was more beautiful and gripping then when the two voices played together in tandem, their melodies matching perfectly, it seemed almost impossible for a human to create. Harry could feel himself sliding to the ground as he listened to the music, resting against the statue of the nameless witch or wizard. He was intoxicated by the song being played, wishing and hoping against all else that it would never end. As he let himself be taken by the music, powerful and compelling, Harry didn't even realize that time was slipping by, that day was becoming night. In what seemed a matter of minutes, Harry had fallen asleep, the sweet lullaby coaxing him into the world of dreams.


End file.
